Repercussions
by Emmy-loo
Summary: Alex Rider wants desperately to be normal. But when his class witnesses something they shouldn't, he has to deal with the consequences as well as prepare for a major storm that's brewing.
1. Chapter 1

Alex Rider was surprised to find that he no longer found school boring. Tom called him crazy, others called him less complimentary things, but once he had caught up, he had found that actually enjoyed learning. It was a hell of a lot more relaxing that trying to stop crazy multi-billionaires from blowing up the world, at least.

All the same, he couldn't help but sigh as he prepared for his Chemistry lesson - Chemistry wasn't like Spanish or French, which he had known since he was little - Chemistry was difficult for him to wrap his head around, with all the talk of Moles and hybridization orbitals.

"Alex? Alex, are you even listening?" his best, well, only friend Tom asked him.

"Hmmm? Oh, yes, just trying to remember whether I've done the homework from last night." He replied. It wasn't a lie. He relished being able to worry about silly things like when assignments were due, rather than how he'd fly into space to destroy a multi-billion dollar hotel. He thought it rather suited him.

"We had homework last night?" Tom yelped as they entered the new Science block, catching several amused eyes as his voice changed pitch halfway through the sentence. Tom cleared his throat and repeated the question, this time much lower and huskier. "Erm...sorry. We had Chemistry homework last night?"

Alex grinned and nodded at Tom, who was making a valiant attempt not to flush, but failing. "Yep. Pages 261 through 266, and then questions 21 through 30 on page 266." He paused for dramatic effect, knowing his next sentence would make Tom go crimson. "Why? Were you too busy staring at Regina Marbury to hear Mr. Wells?" True to his intention, Tom flushed a much deeper shade of red at this and glared at Alex, muttering something about 'bloody super spies who notice too much for their own damn good'.

All the same, it did not prevent Tom from taking his usual seat next to him, in the second row from the back. Alex dutifully took notes, in contrast to Tom, who was doodling fanciful RM + TH on his notebook. Alex bit back a laugh. Halfway through the class, they heard a sharp noise coming from the floor below. Most of his classmates looked up only briefly before turning back to Mr. Wells, but Alex knew that sound too well to ignore it - gunshots.

He was about to ask Mr. Wells to go to the nurse when they came in, dressed head to foot in black, with machine guns easily visible in their hands.

Alex tensed.

By whatever small miracles there were in the world, the two didn't seem to be looking for him in particular - just interested in causing general mayhem. Alex knew the type, though he hadn't needed to deal with them often. Maybe they had a purpose here, maybe they didn't - for all he knew, they were just school shooters, which would make his life easier. He almost snorted with the irony, but managed to hold it in. Yes, it said a lot about him when he thought with hope that they were JUST school shooters.

He looked toward the front, not relaxing, where the two, a man and a woman, were calmly pointing guns at his classmates. His classmates, unlike himself, had never before had to deal with a situation like this, which resulted in a lot of screaming and pointing, the very last thing they should have been doing.

"Good afternoon class," said the woman's voice from the front, quieting the din instantly. If she hadn't been pointing a gun at him Alex would've called her voice beautiful; slightly foreign and crisp. "I hope we aren't interrupting anything."

Alex closed his eyes.

This was too much. Not a month ago he'd returned from bloody Thailand, a while before that, outer space, and less than two weeks before _that_ he'd been in the hospital recovering from a bullet to the chest. Not to mention the other missions that had made his life a living hell. He could feel Tom shaking like a leaf next to him, and the adrenaline flooding through his system made him want to go and knock the two unconscious, which even _he_ knew wasn't a wise idea at this point - with his luck they would fire, and get one of his classmates, who were just beginning to warm up to him, hurt. Or killed.

He didn't open his eyes as the woman continued talking, "You should know that at this very moment, your government is being notified that we have taken your school hostage, and that we do not intend to release anyone until a rather large sum has been placed in our accounts." Many of his classmates, not catching any hints that she was going to kill them, started to relax. After all, this was a job for the government! They'd get it all sorted out! Alex wasn't that optimistic.

The woman - Alex had guessed Asian from the accent - was speaking again. "You should not, on the other hand, get too comfortable. We will not hesitate to kill you should the need arise." As if to prove a point, she pointed her gun at Mr. Wells, who had until this point been cowering behind his desk, and shot. The shot hit exactly between his eyes and started bleeding immediately. He fell right on top of his lecture notes, not moving. Alex's classmates screamed. He did not.

He stood up.

The class quieted immediately, as did the man, who had been laughing gutturally and more than slightly sadistically. He looked at Alex in shock, and Alex guessed, probably correctly, that he was hired help. The woman's eyes, which were the only part he could see of her face, narrowed as she took him in.

He only said one word.

"Don't."

The silence that filled the classroom had never felt so loud, and Alex imagined that he could hear the thoughts of his classmates, tumbling and confused.

_"What the hell's he doing? He's going to get us all killed!"_

_"Alex Rider? Sickly, weak Alex Rider? I must be imagining things."_

_"What in the world is he playing at?"_

Before the silence went from being imposing to oppressive, the woman spoke out again.

"And what's to stop me?" She asked, never taking her eyes off him.

He didn't respond.

She looked less angry now, but somehow more dangerous than ever when she asked him, "What's your name, boy?"

"Alex." he replied without elaboration, and he could almost see her lips purse underneath her ski cap. She didn't comment on it, however, but instead picked up the attendance list sitting on Mr. Wells' desk - which she had to lift up his head to move - and scanned the bloody contents.

"Alex Rider, I presume?" She asked, with a hint of venom in her voice that hadn't been there before. She didn't wait for his reply before saying, "If you would come up to the front, please?"

Despite her politeness, Alex knew it wasn't a request. He eyed the two before he made his way slowly toward the front. This was exactly what he had been aiming for - now he had to gauge how well the two in front of him could fight. Preferably without the guns.

He stumbled purposely over David Hotchkiss' backpack, which was in the aisle. If the two thought him clumsy and uncoordinated, they would underestimate him, which was how he won essentially all of his fights. While outnumbered, anyway.

It couldn't have taken him longer than ten seconds to reach the front of what used to be his Chemistry classroom, but the pounding of his heart seemed to disagree. He spared one look back at his classmates, who were looking surprisingly fearful for him, save Tom, who was beginning to grasp what Alex was up to. His face went into the same looks as the others of their class, save the extra-incredulous eyes. They widened as he got closer to the two, but Alex had to turn back around as not to attract suspicion.

The woman, whose eyes were definitely Asian, he determined, beckoned closer with her right hand. The hired helper seemed not to be watching too closely, and his safety was on, so Alex determined to take the woman out first.

Without warning, his foot hit her stomach, and as she doubled over, Alex took advantage of the opportunity to grab her gun. He switched the safety on before moving onto the man, who was fumbling with the trigger on his gun, apparently not noticing that the safety was still on. Alex took him out with a well-placed chop to the side of the neck and made to snatch his gun too. He succeeded, and proceeded to drop both guns in an attempt to keep his footing. He would have been surprised if the only weapons they had were the guns, and he was not disappointed. The woman brought out a miniature blade and managed to slash Alex's forearm with it before he had twisted it out of her wrist. Meanwhile, the other man was closing in on him from behind, no doubt trying to get his arms pinned.

He spun around, and tried to kick the man in the head, but the bear-like man caught Alex's foot in his hand and flipped him over, causing his head to hit the edge of the desk. Alex felt the warm blood start to trickle out of his scalp as he pushed himself up, swinging his fist around to the side of the woman's head. She dodged easily, but stumbled over the two guns on the floor.

While she regained her balance, Alex ducked down and went for Bear Man's knees, which knocked him over. Getting up and stepping on the man's fingers even as he heard them break and the howls of pain that accompanied, he turned back to the woman just in time to see her leg flying toward his chest - his heart, and therefore his bullet wound, to be exact. He turned so it would be a less damaging blow to the shoulder, though it would still bruise something nasty. Chancing a risky move, Alex grabbed the woman's ankle as it fell and attempted to flip her onto her back. She was lighter than the enemies he was used to fighting, however, so she went flying into the whiteboard and therefore the wall, where she lay still.

Alex glanced at her for a moment before a punch caught him in the kidney and the sharp pain made him glance back at Bear Man. He was grinning maniacally, and Alex noted with detached interest that he had no teeth. Groaning out loud, Alex dodged a punch from his meaty fist and sent one fist of his own toward his stomach a split second before sending his other toward his head. Busy blocking the punch to his gut, Bear Man completely missed the other that was flying toward his head.

After he watched the man tumble to the floor unconscious, Alex took his first glance at his classmates. Every single one of them, including Tom, had looks of incredulous disbelief on their faces. Alex imagined he must look a mess - his head was bleeding profusely, as was his arm, and he was sweating like mad.

The silence seemed to last for ages – Alex would've found his classmates' expressions amusing, were they not all directed at him. But barely anyone was blinking and their mouths were nearly all open and they were all staring at _him_. For someone who was used to stealth and secrecy, their gaze was unnerving.

Tom was the first to speak up. "Well, Alex. That was quite a show."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Alex Rider.**

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Alex tried to make himself laugh at Tom's attempt to diffuse the tension in the room, but his mind was already elsewhere. He was at an impasse. On one hand, he could secure both the room and the terrorists, but run the risk of blowing his story even further out of the water. On the other, he could waltz back to his desk and pretend nothing had ever happened and the two unconscious adults at the front of the room didn't even exist. Neither option looked particularly appealing, but Alex did have a strong desire to live to see the next day. Sighing, he started browsing the room for tape. Particularly something sticky that would be painful to rip off.

Ten minutes, five overheard gunshots, three rolls of tape, two empty machine guns and one desk in front of the door later, Alex realized that the adrenaline rush had worn off. But to someone who was used to far worse injuries than the ones he had accumulated so far in the day, the disbelieving gazes of his classmates were felt almost more physically than his bumps and bruises. Deciding that he couldn't avoid everyone any longer, he slowly turned to face his desk rather than look anyone in the eye. He limped to the back of the room, cursing cramped muscles and bleeding head wounds the whole way.

Alex was tempted to collapse into his chair, but he couldn't afford any weaknesses yet. So instead he lowered himself gracefully into the desk where less than half an hour ago he had been taking diligent notes on ideal gas laws. Looking disinterestedly at his bleeding arm, he called out to his classmates.

"Does anyone happen to be carrying gauze, by any chance?"

With that, the room exploded.

"What was..."

"How in the..."

"...hell is going on?!"

"Where'd you..."

Alex clamped his hand over his mouth, and to his eternal astonishment, everyone quieted instantly. Pushing his discomfort at that fact aside, Alex asked, "Do you want them to hear us?"

Seeing his classmates fervently shake their heads, he bit back a grin.

"Besides, I asked if anyone had gauze."

They were staring again and making him even more uncomfortable when Gemma Ward, a quiet girl with glasses spoke up.

"I think there's some in the bottom-right drawer of the desk. There might be some pain meds there too, I don't remember."

Her best friend, Zoe Jenkins, shot her a questioning look. Gemma swallowed before answering.

"He's...was, my uncle."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Most of the girls and a few more perceptive of the boys were shooting Gemma sympathetic looks, but she was looking at her desk.

Alex took a deep breath and made his way to the desk where Mr. Wells' corpse lay. He'd experienced dead bodies before, plenty of them, but none of them had struck him like this one. There was a look of eternal surprise etched onto his face, as if he couldn't quite believe what was happening.

Alex tore his gaze away and gently pulled open the bottom-right desk drawer. Sure enough, there was a first aid kit. Closing the drawer and limping back to his desk, he opened the kit and removed the gauze and Tylenol. He deftly wrapped up his arm (not an easy feat, seeing as he only had one hand available) and dry-swallowed two pills. He couldn't see anyway he could possibly bandage his own head, so he settled for soaking up some of the spare blood before giving it up as a bad job. Head wounds always bled the most.

It was silly, but Alex was more afraid of facing his classmate's reactions than the two terrorists he had subdued up front. As a matter of fact, at the moment, he would rather deal with more terrorists. People his own age frightened him more.

Deciding he couldn't pretend that they didn't exist any longer, he looked up. There was no explosion this time, only warily interested faces. It seemed he was having a staring contest with every person in the class. Finally, Ryan Kent, the most outspoken of the boys in class, spoke up.

"So...Rider." His name was said with more respect than Alex had grown accustomed to in the month or so he had been back in school. "What the hell was that?"

Alex stared at him, hard, more confident now that he only had one person to confront. Just when the silence started to grow awkward, Alex answered, calmly, "Karate."

Ryan stared in disbelief.

"Yeah, we know it was bloody karate that you were doing up there, Rider, but that doesn't explain the guns!" He was whisper-yelling at this point - infuriated enough to lose his temper, but not stupid enough to risk their lives by shouting.

Alex opened his mouth to retort with something sarcastic, maybe like, "It doesn't, does it?" (Not particularly clever, but he couldn't bring himself to care very much), when more gunshots rang out. They had been going off sporadically while he was "tidying up", but this was louder, and therefore closer. And it wasn't stopping.

Alex was itching to investigate, but that wouldn't do anything for Kent's curiosity. He was too observant for his own good.

Instead, he replied, "Listen, Kent, now is not the best time to get into my personal life. It would take too long."

Next to him, Tom sniggered.

Ryan didn't seem pacified, but he let it go. Alex was thankful. They had a lot of things much bigger than an irritated schoolboy to deal with.

For instance, the shots still going off at the end of the hall. It sounded a little too much like a gunfight for Alex's liking, but the more he thought about it, the better that possibility started to look. If there was a gunfight, then there were two different sides, which meant that MI6 was probably here. He normally wouldn't cheer too much at their presence, but they were his only hope at getting out of here alive. He had no gadgets, no backup, and an entire classroom full of civilians.

The sounds of gunfire were growing closer, and Alex saw a few girls starting to quiver. Janice Murray was crying softly in the back with a group of friends trying to calm her down. To be honest, he was surprised no one had screamed yet, but they all seemed to be taking his warning about staying quiet very seriously.

Alex was still trying to digest the fact that because they'd seen him take out those two adults - Bear Man and Asian woman - they looked to him as a leader. It was unsettling. He was used to working alone.

Contemplating this recent change in class dynamics - if Alex had picked someone out to be class leader, it would've been Ryan Kent, which, come to think of it, may have been why he was so disgruntled - he jumped when he heard the desks in front of the door scraping on the floor. This time he heard at least one girl scream. Running as fast as his sore leg allowed, he slammed the door closed again and sat on the desk in front of it. Hopefully the extra weight would prevent anyone from pushing their way into the classroom.

Instead of the yelling he expected, all he heard were muffled curses.

Then, "Jesus! We're with the SAS, kid, now open the damn door!"

Fighting back a rising sense of dread - if he would rather face terrorists than his classmates, then he would definitely rather face his classmates than anyone from the Special Air Service - he peeked out of the glass section of the door. Staring him in the face was a man he didn't recognize.

"Prove it." He said, unwilling to open the door only to get shot by an impersonator.

The young man grumbled, but pulled out his dog tags, which Alex had seen often enough (he had a pair of his own, after all) to acknowledge that they were real.

Carefully pushing the desks to the side of the door, he cracked it open to see four men. The first was the nondescript man he had seen through the door. One held a bleeding nose that, Alex realized with a start, he had probably gotten when Alex slammed the door in his face. Another had ginger hair...

Alex audibly bit back a groan. He was face to face with the K Unit.

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**AN:** So, what do you think? I have to say, I was more than amazed by the response from the first chapter - it completely blew me away! Sorry this isn't longer, but this seemed an appropriate place to cut it off. I have to say, though, that all of my updates will probably come slower than this because I've got a lot going on right now. But your reviews sure do put me on the right track. :)

Fun fact of the day: While I was searching for some British-sounding names (I want this to be authentic!) I came across this study. It turns out that, in Britain, the two unluckiest names are John and Helen! Weird, huh?


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider.**

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Many people had told Alex that he had good luck - the luck of the Devil, or the luck of the Irish, for instance - simply based on the fact that he was still alive. The situations he had gotten himself mixed up in (coming close to being dissected, being shot centimetres above the heart and living, escaping a clinic that was hell-bent on harvesting his organs by the skin of his teeth...the list was extensive.) Alex himself was prone to disagree. After all, if he had all of the luck people always told him he had, he would be using it to score goals in football, wouldn't he? Not being chased around the globe on suicide missions for a government he didn't even like.

In fact, if anyone had asked him, he would've claimed that he had a streak of bad luck a mile wide. Getting recruited to Military Intelligence, Section 6 at the tender age of fourteen, getting into all of the situations that his apparently good luck got him out of, and now, running into three people he could very happily go the rest of his life without ever seeing again. (He was reserving judgment on the fourth. It wasn't Fox, a man that he genuinely liked and had taken bullets for him, so he could go either way.) Yes, Alex Rider was convinced: his luck was about as bad as it could get.

Seeing Wolf, Eagle and Snake with their new team member was a surprise, to say the least, but Alex controlled his reaction. Putting a finger to his lips, he hoped they got the message: he was undercover here. There couldn't be any sign that he knew anyone in the SAS. He saw Eagle's eyes widen to cartoonish sizes, and Snake nodded very seriously. With a start, Alex realized that only Wolf was left for the contender of the bloody nose. His eyes widened as he took in the murderous expression on his face and was sorely tempted to close the door back in their faces.

But he turned around again, and his classmates' expressions were so hopeful that he couldn't just cut off their only hope of escaping the chemistry lab room that was beginning to smell like dried blood.

Ignoring his sense of self-preservation, which was telling him to get out and get out _now_, he let the four men into the room. Their eyes widened as they took in the two subdued terrorists, which, Alex noted with interest, were just beginning to stir.

Playing dumb, Snake asked, "I'm assuming that was you?"

Alex was extremely tempted to reply sarcastically, maybe with something like, "No, it was my imaginary friend Jeffrey", but the respectfulness that SAS drill sergeants had, appropriately, drilled into him, was coming back to the surface. He only nodded. (Keeping himself from standing at attention as he did this was more difficult than he expected, but it wouldn't do to have his classmates see something like that.)

Snake nodded, looking almost insultingly surprised that Alex had managed to tie them up. Of course, he was probably acting, but Alex was irritated all the same. Leave for people who have seen him in action to underestimate him.

Eagle walked into the room slowly and stiffly, rather than the boisterous response Alex had suspected, which almost made him laugh. Eagle would be horrible undercover. He looked about ready to explode - his lips were literally sealed shut and he was bouncing on the balls of his feet. Alex rather thought that if he didn't share his secret soon, he was likely either to shout it or just run away screaming.

Looking to Snake again and avoiding Wolf's glare (he wasn't sure if it was from the bloody nose or the general dislike between them), he began to wonder what exactly someone in his class would be doing right now. Would they sit back down? Be eager to please the SAS? Or just stare dumbly at the four and watch them? Risking a glance at Tara Pennington in the front row, he saw her with wide eyes and an open mouth, watching as the four men inspected the two now-animated bodies at the front of the room.

He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to mimic postures he never used. It was sad, he noted, that he had to TRY to be a teenager.

Just then, Snake looked back up at him and nodded. "Well done. We'll take them from here."

Alex was again surprised by the immediate outburst from his class.

"But what...?"

"You're just going to...?!"

"Where do...?"

Frankly, the racket was giving him a headache. He had never felt older.

Wolf looked up, and the class quieted instantly, mostly likely due to the intimidating face he was sporting. He looked about ready to kill someone, and no one wanted to be the prime candidate.

"Look," he said, grimacing, "I'm going to take you all to a safe zone, and you'll then be transported home." He didn't look too happy at the prospect. Alex had to wonder why Wolf, possibly the least logical candidate to deal with a large group of teenagers, had been chosen for the task.

"You," his head jerked in Alex's direction, "stay here."

Alex, deciding to act frightened of the soldiers, just nodded weakly. In the middle of the room, Ryan and his cronies looked pleased, though Alex wasn't quite sure what they were expecting. Did they think he was going to get taken down a few notches? He was probably going to get the opposite, actually.

He had to fight back an immature feeling of superiority at that – he hadn't done anything special, he reminded himself, just done his job.

But as his classmates were herded out of the classroom by an irate Wolf, with Tom sending him wide-eyed glances that obviously said "tell me everything later", Alex couldn't help but feel the sensation of superiority being replaced by an impending sense of doom.

The very second, Eagle, with his head sticking out the door, was sure his class was out of earshot, he started talking.

"Cub! Never thought I'd see you again, mate!"

Alarmed, Alex glanced at the two who'd attacked him earlier, but someone had apparently knocked them out again, for both were slumped on the ground. His lips twitched at seeing the beautiful Asian woman drool.

Catching his line of sight, Snake reassured him.

"They're out cold. I've injected them with a concentrated dose of eszopiclone."

Alex raised his eyebrow. "Is that legal?"

Snake only shrugged, but Alex could see the hint of a grin on his face.

"Almost anything's legal when you're SAS."

Alex had creased his brow and opened his mouth to speak again, but Eagle interrupted.

"Oh, no you don't! We are _not_ getting into a discussion about military ethics right now."

He did his best to look menacing, but all it succeeded in doing was to highlight the cartoonish features of his face.

Alex saw Snake and their partner snigger, but he only nodded agreeably.

Eagle nodded boisterously and started bouncing around again.

"So," he started, "what have you been up to? Snowboard down any mountains on an ironing board lately? How about kick Wolf's arse out of a plane?" He paused for a breath. "Oh! I know! You've saved the world another three or four times, haven't you?"

Alex only shook his head solemnly, which made Eagle's face contort once again into an over-the-top expression, this time one of puzzlement.

Waiting a few seconds for the best dramatic effect, Alex told him, "More like five or six."

He was enjoying tormenting the two of them way too much. But he supposed it was payback for the hell they'd given him at Breacon Beacons. Plus, it never hurt to keep people on their toes.

He saw Eagle's eyes widen once more, and Snake shook his head disbelievingly, but their partner snorted.

Alex, sensing a...disagreement brewing, arranged his face into a carefully neutral expression.

"Sorry, I didn't catch your name," he told the soldier.

"It's Cobra," he said, gruffly.

Hearing the man's voice for the first time was...unsettling. It was deep and gravelly, with a menacing quality Alex didn't catch too often from people that were supposed to be on his side. Immediately on his guard, he asked the man, "Are you Ben's replacement, then?"

If he thought the use of Ben's first name would throw them off, he was right on target. They all started, though slightly, very noticeably. Alex saw Eagle open his mouth to presumably ask him how he knew that, but Snake elbowed him in the side before he could get out more than a "How'd..."

Cobra's eyes narrowed. "I suppose you could say that."

Alex rather thought he didn't like the idea of being a replacement, and likely a temporary one, at that. Deciding then and there that this man was one to be watched, he said, "Just how new are you, anyway?" If he was provoked by this, then the man was officially less mature than his line of work called for.

Though it hadn't seemed possible before, Cobra's eyes narrowed even further. Stepping forward, until he was toe-to-toe with Alex (who was startled to notice that he didn't have to look up to make eye contact), Cobra asked him, "What did you just say to me?"

Alex, refusing to be provoked, simply nodded and commented in a completely nonchalant tone, "I asked how new you were."

Cobra was seething by now, but, to be honest, his glare wasn't that impressive. Wolf's was far worse.

"And what makes _you_ an expert?" He said this as if it was taking a real effort not to scream it, but spittle still came flying out of his mouth and onto Alex face. There was a particularly large glob slowly dripping down his chin that was irritating him, but he refused to wipe it off.

Staring Cobra down, Alex said, short, simply, and sweetly, "Experience."

It was then that Cobra exploded. A man that had before looked nonthreatening and unremarkable suddenly showed all of the signs of truly being an SAS soldier. A mad one, true, but a trained soldier nonetheless.

Suddenly questioning the sanity of his previous actions, Alex debated his course of action. His adrenaline was making this a fight-or-flight situation, and he could see no other viable options. Without warning, Cobra swung his fist around to the side of Alex's head, but Alex was too quick for him. Ducking, he heard the crunch of knuckles hitting the wall before he went straight for Cobra's knees. The man tumbled to his back and Alex flipped him over and caught him in a traditional hold before anyone could blink.

Snake and Eagle looked dumbstruck, but it wasn't until Alex looked past them that he saw Wolf leaning against the doorframe, his nose still crusty with blood. Hardly daring to breathe, Alex tried to read his expression, but he was unsuccessful.

Finally, just as the silence started to become oppressive, Wolf spoke. "I'm going to have to thank you, Cub. I've been looking for an excuse to get rid him," he gestured to Cobra's body that was squirming under Alex's hold, "for ages."

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**AN: Sorry for the delay, everyone, but this is what happens when you have a real life! You would not believe all the things I've got going on right now...Anyway, to get to the chapter, is this length better for you? ****:)**** Once I had the time to get started, it just flowed. **

**Thanks to everyone that reviewed, even if I couldn't get back to everyone. Read and review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider or any other characters from Anthony Horowitz's stories. I am simply borrowing them.**

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Staring dumbly at Wolf, Alex tried to comprehend this recent turn of events. Wolf had always seemed intimidating, unapproachable, and every other synonym of just plain _scary_ he could think of. But the man in the doorway looked remarkably close to cracking a smile, despite the fact that his nose was crusting with blood and starting to bruise spectacularly. Deciding to play Devil's advocate, and genuinely interested once he shook off his disbelief at Wolf's friendliness, he asked him, "What's he done?"

Affecting a purposely casual air, Wolf shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing really. But he pisses me off."

Out of the corner of his eye, Alex saw Snake and Eagle shake with silent laughter, no doubt remembering a particular incident. Cobra was squirming uncomfortably underneath him. Growing increasingly frustrated with his movements, Alex grabbed the side of his neck, at his carotid artery, with his thumb. Far from strangling him, the move quickly and effectively knocked the large man unconscious.

He looked up to see Eagle with his brow furrowed, an expression that, on anyone else would've looked serious. Eagle just made it look silly.

"Where'd you learn that?"

Alex shrugged. He actually didn't remember where he'd learned to do that, and the thought made his insides squirm. He'd truly been _made_ for this spying thing by Ian Rider, and it grew more and more obvious for every day he tried to act normal. For every day he played the part of a normal teenager, there was a day in his past when he had learned the best way to incapacitate a man. For every night he went to the movies with friends, there was a night in his past Ian had drilled him on Spanish verb conjugations, correcting his accent while they ate authentic empanadas. For every summer afternoon he spent lazily lounging around the pool, there was another where he learned to scuba dive, or was taught the best way to resuscitate a drowning victim. For every video game he played with Tom, there was a moment in the past where he had held a real gun between his fingers. For each day of snowy weather, there was a moment where Ian had taught him the most efficient way to survive in the elements. Pushing any and all revelations to the side, he hastily decided to change the subject before the silence became too obvious.

"So," he said, moving off of Cobra's slumped form to go sit on a desk, "what, exactly, am I going to tell my classmates that I did?"

The room was silent. Not uncomfortably so, as it had been when Wolf had entered, but contemplative. It was a dilemma. Essentially, Alex was always undercover while at school, though he hated to think of it that way. He preferred to tell himself that while he was being himself, he wasn't undercover, but in a corner of his mind that he didn't like to acknowledge, he mulled over the fact that he wasn't exactly using an alias when he was with the Drevin's. But he ignored that train of thought. He would rather ignore it than deal with any musings from his own twisted mind.

"Well," he heard Snake say, tentatively, "couldn't we just _tell_ them?" He wasn't specific, but everyone in the room knew what he was referring to.

Alex shook his head vehemently. He wasn't quite sure what would happen if his classmates were told about his...part-time job, but he knew for sure that it wouldn't be anything he would want to see.

"No, no way!" he said, trying to convey why that particular option was so repulsive to him. It was hard to put into words, but he almost felt that he couldn't ever be normal again if his classmates knew why he was absent so often.

No one questioned his response, and the classroom that was starting to stink with the smell of dried blood was quiet once more.

Eagle was the next to speak up. It appeared that he couldn't remain stationary for long periods of time, because he was now walking on top of the rows of desks, his long legs crossing the lengths between them easily. "What if we just told them you're good at karate?"

Alex shook his head again, but with no real feeling this time. "I tried that already. Most of them didn't believe me."

"Does it matter whether they believe you or not?" Snake asked.

"Ah!" Eagle brightened, pausing while standing on top of Zoe's desk in the back corner of the room. "I think we're onto something."

It was Alex's turn to furrow his brow - what were these two going on about? Before he had a chance to voice his questions, Wolf spoke up. "Us army types use excuses like that a lot, Cub," he said. "Most people are easy to satisfy. They'll believe anything you tell them as long as it comes from a credible source."

Alex raised a solitary eyebrow, a talent he had perfected once upon a time when things like that had mattered to him. "And you're a credible source?"

Wolf didn't rise to the bait. "I have a uniform," he replied, simply.

* * *

"…and so you see, it was thanks to the quick thinking and actions of your classmate, Mr. Alex Rider, that Chemistry class B, time slot four, remained safe and secure during such a tragic day. He will be receiving a medal for special services to the country, as will anyone else who had a hand in preventing an even greater calamity than those events that occurred here Thursday past. You may all know Ms. Emily Robertson, who taught Year 1 English. She attempted to reason with the hostiles and dreadfully lost her life. Her family will be receiving a posthumous medal…"

Alex tried to listen, he really did, but he couldn't bring himself to focus. He _knew_ some of these people, the ones the terribly boring government representative was reading off as he was sitting in assembly. His heart had given a dreadful lurch when the woman read off the names Chloe Browning and Kwan Park. He had gone to primary school with Chloe, and Kwan had been in his English Lit class the previous year. Neither of them should have died.

But Kwan had stood, the same as he had, but he had been shot straight through the heart without a moment's hesitation. Chloe had gone so far as to partially disable one of the assailants that had disturbed her Trig class. The stories her classmates were telling with reverence said that she had run up to the two men and used her extremely basic self-defence skills to kick one in the groin and jump on the other's back. A select few were claiming that she had gouged one of his eyes out.

Today was their first day back at school after the attack, though it had been nearly a week. Alex had been permitted to collapse at home only after a two hour debriefing at the Royal and General Bank. For the past week or so, though, he had been left alone. No classmates ringing, no missions popping up and no work to catch up on. For the first few days, it had been heaven. But after he exhausted every channel he and Jack got (not many, as Ian hadn't believed in lying about the house), he had been bored out of his wits. A few times he had half-heartedly suggested maybe going to the movies, but Jack was busy writing her senior thesis for graduate school, and he hardly thought that any of his classmates would be in any condition to go.

He watched television almost obsessively for the first few days of his self-imposed imprisonment. Ryan Kent had been on BBC News a few days ago with an exclusive. The funerals (all 16 of them) were broadcast internationally. A government representative was on the news every five minutes, it seemed, coming under fire for not foreseeing the attack, and then for letting the terrorists walk away with their money. The whole nation, and other parts of the globe, it seemed, was captivated with the story that a British school had been targeted in this fashion.

Interestingly, Alex's role in subduing two of the hostiles was not publicized. He was curious as to why they wouldn't advertise the fact that a schoolboy had managed to get two of them – it would make the government look better. A sort of, 'If he can do it, so can we!' attitude. But, somehow, it had been kept quiet. Alex could only hope that the price of silence wasn't too high.

Sitting in the assembly now, Alex finally let himself fear his classmates' reactions. They'd had a week to simmer and replay the events in their minds, and with all of the media focused on the attack, it was likely to be sharper than ever in their memories. So it was with a heavy heart that he finally got out of his seat, stretching his legs, which had fallen asleep sometime during the lengthy speech. It was just his luck that he had Chemistry straight after assembly.

Walking as slowly as he could get away with in the bustling, but still solemn hallway, he started thinking about possible responses to questions that his classmates were likely to ask. The trouble was that he couldn't think of very many. There was Wolf's strategy of telling half-truths and dismissing any doubters, but he was already lying to them so much. By the time he reached his new Chemistry classroom, on the other side of the school, he still hadn't come up with anything plausible. Resigned to his fate, Alex still paused outside of the door. He could see their substitute for the rest of the year, Mrs. Parkin, gathering papers up at her desk. Bracing himself, Alex walked in.

The entire room froze, save Mrs. Parkin, who was obliviously humming show tunes and stacking papers up at her desk. When the silence finally reached her ears, she looked up curiously. This was probably the quietest she would see the classroom all year. Ignoring the stares of his classmates and walking to the second row from the back, where Tom had saved him a seat, he tried to hold his head up high. It was hard to do with the whispers that were breaking out as soon as he passed a row. Did they honestly think he couldn't hear them? The conversations were rushed and excited – Sophie York and Anne McCarthy were conspiring that he was in the mob, or the mafia, or something equally mysterious. The boys were less forgiving. Ryan and one of his cronies, Jack Ames, figured he was in a gang to know how to take a gun apart like that. The whispered murmurings grew to a fever pitch before he sat down, but when he did, everyone quieted almost instantly. Now that his eyes were on them, almost everyone pretended as if they were talking to a friend, or in a particularly funny case, taking notes on a lesson that hadn't started yet.

Mrs. Parkin, completely unaware of the conversations that were taking place even now, just said brightly, "Well let's get started, then!"

Alex groaned under his breath.

**AN: Again, everyone, I'm sorry for the delay. I've been waiting to get this done ever since I got the last chapter up, but my life is slowly going insane. Expect this to be the normal length between updates, sorry everyone. **

**In happier news, 108 REVIEWS?! Really?! I am so blown away by this response – I honestly never expected this kind of interest. Seriously, thanks guys, keep it up! Every review motivates me to write even more quickly.**

**Sorry about the length, for those of you that have commented on it in the past – I've been trying to get them longer, but until I get to the more exciting parts I have planned, look for this to be the average.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider or any other characters from Anthony Horowitz's stories. I am simply borrowing them.**

* * *

The Chemistry lesson passed by uneventfully, if excruciatingly slowly. Alex got plenty of curious looks, and a few dirty ones, but his eyes were focused on Mrs. Parkin. He had decided that she was a decent teacher, if a bit harebrained at times. They were talking about the electromagnetic spectrum now, and he was taking diligent notes. But he knew, however hard he tried to fool himself, that he was only paying so much attention because he was afraid to catch the gazes of his peers. Inwardly, he berated himself for being so cowardly.

When, _finally_, the bell rang, he gathered his things in one hand and his bag in the other, hoping to make a quick and inconspicuous escape. It didn't work.

"Rider!" Kent yelled across the room. "Wait up! I want a word with you!"

Alex considered very seriously pretending that he hadn't heard, but almost every head had turned to look between them. No one was feigning disinterest now. Even Mrs. Parkin, who Alex had classified as pretty useless, was watching.

Alex knew he had to play his cards carefully. Arranging his face into a neutral mask, he looked over to Ryan. The boy looked like he was attempting to hide his eagerness behind a mask, but he wasn't nearly as schooled in it as Alex was. Carefully, he told Kent, "If you want to talk, you can walk with me." He almost tripped over himself in his haste.

Alex looked to his right, where Tom was also watching. He tried to keep his features impassive, but there was a slight air of dislike in his eyes that caught Alex's interest. He hadn't been aware of any bad blood between the two. Catching Tom's eye and nodding, he started to walk out of the lab room without bothering to wait for Ryan.

He had just reached the door when he heard the telltale sign of trainers squeaking on the floor. Turning to Tom, he asked about the homework that they'd been assigned. Tom looked momentarily stumped, but he seemed to catch the drift: acting like Ryan wasn't even there would bring him down a couple notches. His ego was bound to be huge these days, what with being on BBC and all.

Kent had caught up with them fairly quickly - they hadn't gotten much more than a few feet outside the classroom before he was walking next to them. Tom was going into vivid detail on the homework assigned, and moaning about how difficult it was going to be, especially with football practice that afternoon. Alex nodded and voiced his opinion when it was required, but they both knew he wasn't paying close attention. His attention was directed toward Ryan, who, he noticed with increasing interest, was turning quite a peculiar shade of red.

The first moment Tom paused to take a breath, Ryan interjected. "Rider...Alex." He started, suddenly looking very unsure of himself and maybe a little bit scared. Both made sense if Alex considered the fact that Ryan thought he was talking to a gang member. He almost smiled at the thought, but held it in at the last second.

Tom, following Alex's lead, didn't say anything. Kent looked unnerved, but continued. "You never really answered my question, you know."

Alex made a noncommittal noise in his throat. Ryan, sensing that Alex had no immediate intentions to kill him, seemed to gather courage. "I mean, you told us that you took karate, but that doesn't explain most of what happened last Thursday."

"It doesn't?" Alex asked, doing his best to keep his voice even and dull.

"No!" Kent exclaimed, "I mean, karate classes don't teach you how to tie a person up with scotch tape, and I know they definitely don't teach you how to take a gun apart!"

He was getting rather loud at this point, and people were starting to look in their direction. Ryan seemed to notice this, and his ears reddened a bit in what Alex assumed was embarrassment.

"Before my uncle died, he taught me a lot about self-defence, the kind they don't go over in lessons," he said, slowly and quietly. Ryan didn't appear to be pacified, but he let the topic drop. As he turned the corner toward the English wing, Alex got the unfortunate feeling in the pit of his stomach that he would be seeing much more of Ryan Kent.

* * *

He was sitting in Spanish, trying very hard not to fall asleep during the lesson on present subjunctive tense (a tense he had perfected at a mere seven years of age), when the phone rang. The teacher, a woman in her early sixties that told her students she didn't speak any English, answered the phone with an irritated ¿Diga?

Alex's attention was perked. Though there were phones in every classroom, they were rarely used, as they were said to 'disrupt the delicate learning environment'.

Señora Mendez's eyes flicked in Alex's general direction, but not onto a specific student. Though he knew most of the kids in his class would be praying for a respite from the dull class, he hoped for the opposite - if he got called down to the office, he knew it wouldn't be for anything good.

Sure enough, though, after an exasperated "Harumph!" from Señora Mendez, she called his name. "Señor Rider?"

He got up slowly, aware of all the eyes on him. "La oficina?" he asked, trying desperately to think of anything he had done wrong - had he back talked a teacher lately? Offended another student? Had he left a paper at home, and Jack had rushed in to get it to him? He thought through the memories of the past few hours, but there was only one reason he knew was really likely, and he refused to acknowledge it.

She nodded, and it was with a growing sense of dread that he pushed in his chair and walked slowly out the door, ignoring the mocking "Ooh" that rose from his classmates. Someone even yelled, "What've you done this time?"

His feet walked the path to the office automatically, his head too busy with worst-case scenarios to pay attention to the hallways. He nearly walked into a janitor, but caught himself at the last minute and shook himself awake. Inattentiveness killed people.

All too soon, he reached the office. A man was visible talking to Ms. Bedfordshire, one of the secretaries, through the glass wall that separated it from the main hallway. He looked big, but otherwise unremarkable. Alex wasn't surprised. Blending in was how MI6 agents did their jobs.

He wasn't wearing the stereotypical James Bond suit, but a pair of khaki trousers and a button down top that wouldn't have looked out of place on any dad coming to pick their child up. As Alex was walking into the office, he heard the man say "Oh, well, yes, you understand, don't you? Sometimes these appointments just seem to book themselves!"

Alex wondered who he was masquerading as. It was common knowledge around the school that he himself was an orphan, and almost everyone knew that he had lived with his uncle up until only a few months ago. Maybe he was pretending to be another uncle? Or even Jack's new boyfriend? Alex snorted inwardly at the thought. As if Jack would date such a ponce.

When the two heard him entering the office, they turned and offered him smiles. Alex may have been a little biased, but Ms. Bedfordshire's was definitely friendlier.

"'Lo, Ms. Bedfordshire," he said, nodding to her.

"Good morning Alex," she began, looking curiously at him, "It seems you have a doctor's appointment today?"

"Ah, that's right," he replied, cringing. "Completely forgot about it."

"Don't worry Alex!" the man replied, clapping him on the back. "That's what I'm here for, yeah?"

"Yeah," Alex said, mustering up a mild smile. "When do we leave?"

"Just about now," the agent pronounced, smiling very charmingly at the secretary. "He's all signed out, right?"

"He's all taken care of," Mrs. Bedfordshire smiled. "I hope you're all better soon, Alex!"

"Me too," he whispered under his breath. Outwardly, he provided a smile for the kindly woman. "See you, Ms. B!"

She smiled as the agent led Alex gently out the door by his elbow. The very second they had rounded the corner; he yanked it out of the man's grasp and followed him to the standard sedan. Alex noted with interest, however, that this one was silver rather than black.

He made his way to the passenger side, careful to keep his façade of a teenager happy to miss a bit of school firmly in place. It wasn't until he was slumped in the car that he allowed himself to scowl.

"What happened to calling me at home?" he asked, leaking a bit of petulance into his tone.

The agent, now stony-faced and silent, only replied simply, "Routine kills."

Alex snorted and turned to face the window, where the occasional droplet of rain was streaking down slowly. He let his eyes close briefly, imagining how they would convince him to get into this one. It was odd – now that he realized it, MI6 had only directly arranged his first two missions. The rest had been caused by foreign agencies or his own stupid curiosity. He allowed himself a brief moment of pain remembering Ash, and the role he had played in his parents' deaths. He composed himself quickly, however. His Snakehead mission was not one he wanted to dwell on.

In what seemed like merely a second, but was probably closer to twenty minutes thanks to the traffic and weather, the agent was tracing the familiar roads that led to the Royal and General Bank. Without another word, he pulled in. Alex opened his door and braced himself. He was going in.

* * *

**AN: Hello all! Sorry again about the delay in getting this chapter posted, but 10 days looks to be about the average. It's either that or 500 word chapters. :) And I'm sorry that nothing really happened this chapter. But we're getting to the good stuff, don't worry! For those of you who asked, K Unit is going to disappear for a little while, but don't worry – they will be back! Keep reading and reviewing!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider or any other characters from Anthony Horowitz's stories. I am simply borrowing them.**

* * *

_The least they could do_, Alex thought as he simmered in an uncomfortable, straight-backed chair across from a desk with a nondescript nameplate that read ALAN BLUNT in block letters, _is be on time to their own bloody meeting!_ He had been dropped in this nauseatingly familiar office more than twenty minutes ago by an irritatingly silent man, and not a single person had even come down the hallway. It wasn't doing anything for his minor anger issues. He just wanted the stupid thing to be over already.

Less than one minute after he began to consider walking out (he wouldn't call it running away, even inside his own head), scaling the side of the building in the rain if necessary, they both walked in.

His observations gave him no new conclusions – neither one of them had changed, he noticed, though he wasn't sure if he had really expected them to. He wouldn't be particularly surprised if he came back even hundreds of years later and the two of them were still in this office, Mrs. Jones sucking on the ubiquitous peppermint and Blunt being so dreadfully boring that he faded into the background no matter where he was.

No words were exchanged as the two took their seats. No words were needed. They knew Alex would agree – whether through bribery or blackmail, everyone currently seated in the office knew that he would end up doing whatever they expected of him. It was depressing, but Alex knew that until he either legally emancipated himself or turned eighteen he would be tied to the will of the two individuals in this room.

The silence continued until Mrs. Jones cleared her throat, opening the file that she had carried into the room.

"It's nice to see you looking well, Alex," she began, looking at the folder rather than his face. "I see that you have recovered from your previous injuries."

Alex nodded. His injuries, mostly bruises save for the thin, almost-invisible scar on his forearm, were gone. He was a fast healer.

The silence was back again, with Blunt looking at him curiously and Alex staring right back. Mrs. Jones, obviously uncomfortable, cleared her throat again.

"I don't suppose you have an idea as to why you are here today, Alex?" she asked, finally making eye contact.

"Not really," he shrugged, "but I'm guessing it's got something to do with the attack last week."

Blunt, speaking for the first time, said, "It has everything to do with the attack from last week. But before we go any farther, I would like to introduce you to someone."

Alex's interest was piqued. MI6 personnel were rarely clued in to what his presence at the bank meant, and if someone new knew, then they were obviously important.

Seemingly on a cue, the door opened and a young woman stepped in. She was black and very pretty, her hair tied back and in a very professional power suit. She was carrying a clipboard and a pen, which she absentmindedly clicked once, taking the empty seat next to Mrs. Jones.

"Alex," Blunt continued, "This is Sophia Lewis. She will be taking my position when I retire."

Alex raised an eyebrow. Blunt was retiring?

"Not for several years," Sophia laughed, musically. "I still have plenty to learn."

Blunt nodded, and then continued as if there had been no interruption, "We never told you who was responsible for the attack, Alex, for good reason."

Mrs. Jones continued, "They are an extremely dangerous organization, though they seem unassuming at first."

Patience was not one of Alex's strong points. "So?" he asked, "Who are they?"

Blunt sighed, looking every one of his years. "They refer to themselves as the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, an allusion to the book of Revelations in the New Testament. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were referred to as the forces of man's destruction. We believe that they have an agenda."

"We _know_ they have an agenda," Mrs. Jones corrected. "A group such as this one does not take a random secondary school hostage for funds if they do not have an agenda."

Lewis was in the corner, scribbling hastily, seemingly taking minutes.

"How does this involve me?" he asked, not exactly sure that he wanted the answer. A growing sense of foreboding was overtaking him - mad millionaires he could deal with, but he had little to no experience with religious nutcases, unless one counted his crazy old neighbour Mrs. Granger, who wandered around the neighbourhood hitting people on the head with her worn copy of the King James Bible, occasionally shouting Scripture to whoever would listen. Alex didn't count Mrs. Granger.

Blunt answered for him. "The woman that you subdued, Mitsoku Takami, is a member of this organization."

There was a pause, and Blunt looked as though he smelled something extremely unpleasant. "She," he continued, apparently reluctantly, "managed to escape our holding cells last night, and has since vanished without a trace."

"Who's looking for her?" Alex demanded, in what he knew was a petulant tone.

"Everyone we have," Blunt answered.

"Alex," Mrs. Jones interrupted, "this would not be such a problem if it was an isolated case."

Despite her attempts to distract him with military vocabulary, he knew what she was saying. "She's not the only one to have escaped?" he voiced his guess, his tone now quiet and slightly annoyed.

Blunt sighed again, possibly the most emotion Alex had ever seen out of the man in one sitting. "In the past four and a half months, there have been eleven escapees. The security has been increased after each escape, but no evidence has ever been found, even with security cameras tripled and human observation doubled."

Sophia Lewis' furious scribbling had paused, most likely due to the almost-tangible silence that now pervaded the room.

It continued until Mrs. Jones spoke up, ignoring the obvious hostility emanating from Alex's gaze. "We were hesitant to call you in for this, Alex. After all, Takami knows your face. But every other agent that we have sent in has been unsuccessful."

Alex noticed that she did not use the term 'returned unsuccessful', which was common phrasing around the bank.

"They're all dead, you mean?" he asked, in what he knew was an insensitive fashion. Sure enough, Mrs. Jones blanched.

"Yes." Blunt said, with no fanfare. "They're all dead."

"What makes you think that I'd end up any differently?"

"Because, Alex, they are currently recruiting. Teenagers are their main targets, though we have received a few reports of children being accepted."

"Why so young?" he wondered, scrunching his eyebrows.

"Because young minds are unlikely to be firm in their beliefs, and they are therefore easier to shape," Lewis said this, which made Alex glance at her curiously. She had been silent until this point.

"I was a psych major in college," she replied in answer to his questioning gaze.

He guessed it made sense, in a twisted sort of way. Mould them young and they would be likely to be set in their ways by the time they reached adulthood and therefore more likely to continue the cycle. It left a bad taste in his mouth, though.

"I hope you know," Mrs. Jones began, apparently recovered from the remark he had thrown earlier, "that you actually are our last resort."

While he was busy wondering whether or not he should be offended, she answered, "We have been trying to respect your decisions, Alex. We have not called on you for a long time, and I, for one, hope that this actually is the last."

Well _that_ made him look at her sharply. It was interesting, he noticed, how little he actually had to say to convey his point. Mrs. Jones answered his unasked question by saying, "I know that you're done with saving the world, Alex, and I hope that it will no longer need you to save it." Finished with her speech, she looked back into her lap, her hands folded atop the manila folder Alex knew he would be given later that contained his new identity.

Briefly, he wondered why they couldn't just have someone else do it, because he was sure as hell sick of doing these assignments. But that thought filled him with guilt – he wouldn't condemn anyone else to his fate of constant danger and upheaval. Not even Ryan Kent, the constant thorn in his side.

Resignedly, he asked, "Who am I going to be?" Would he be a real person, their identity stolen for the sake of national security, or simply a fake, crafted especially for this mission?

Back to business, Mrs. Jones responded, "Your cover will be Alec Landry, a Canadian homeless child who found religion with the Catholic Church, but was looking for something more...extreme. The Horsemen offer you that something more – they are extremists in the most literal sense of the word. Though they are primarily a religious organization, they are extremely secretive about location and aims, so that is your main purpose in going there. This is a surveillance mission only, Alex. These people have no morals – don't take it upon yourself to deal with them. We will have a team following you for that specific purpose."

Alex nodded, though he knew without a doubt that that would not be the case. All of his missions started out as surveillance, but very few ended that way. He could only wonder where this one would take him.

"Is he a real person?" he wondered aloud, "Or did you make him up?"

"He is, or rather _was_, a real person." Blunt answered. At Alex's wide eyes, he rushed to continue, "He's not dead, but he is no longer Alec Landry, either. He has agreed that a new identity would be for the best."

Alex nodded, already thinking of what he knew of Canada. It wasn't much, he knew, but he would research it later. If he was going to play the part then he needed to know the motives.

"So when do I leave?" he asked, knowing that he wouldn't like the response. _Never_ would come too soon.

Sure enough, Mrs. Jones responded with, "Tomorrow."

"Lovely. Should I go see Mr. Smithers now, then?"

At a nod, he turned and left the office, making his way down the familiar pathways to Smither's lair, ignoring the stares and whispers that his presence brought. He felt no embarrassment, however. He felt nothing, not even anger at his situation. The only thing he felt was a sad resignation, the knowledge that he would be gone from school yet again, only a day after his return. He wondered vaguely what he would tell them he had this time. The flu just wasn't going to cut it.

* * *

AN: I'm really, really sorry for the delay guys, but I had tons of stuff going on. My town had a Relay for Life event, which just eats up time, and finals hit me hard in the last few weeks. Thankfully, school's out and relay is over, so I have much more time to write! (Today was actually my first day off!) Read and review, you know you want to!


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider or any other characters from Anthony Horowitz's stories. I am simply borrowing them.**

* * *

However much he hated the bank and the large majority of its employees, Alex had to admit that he did enjoy visiting Smithers. The man was a certifiable genius, and he was just genuinely likeable. If he took his mind off of the fact that every single gadget Smithers gave him would likely save his life in the upcoming days (weeks, even, if the mission took that long), he could also look forward to seeing what the man had crafted this time. Some of the things were simply... insane.

As he pushed the familiar door open, he wondered what madness Smithers had cooking this time.

"Mr. Smithers?" he called out to the dark, apparently empty room. He frowned slightly. This was odd. He had been expressly told to visit Smithers...

And suddenly, without warning, Alex was flat on his back.

"What the...?!" he managed to get out before getting himself up and brushing himself off. The lights suddenly turned on and Mr. Smithers made his way out of a back room, waddling at faster speeds than normal.

"Terribly sorry, Alex m'boy!" he panted from a few feet away, "My security system seems to be growing a mind of its own these days..."

"Security system?" Alex questioned, grimacing and rubbing at the back of his head where he had hit the ground. "That felt more like a force field to me."

"Did it?" Smithers beamed. "I've been working on it, and that is the exact effect I am going for, though I can't get it to work reliably."

"Obviously," Alex muttered under his breath, when Smithers turned back to his workbench. He didn't seem to have heard.

Alex made his way to the workbench, curiosity overcoming temporary embarrassment. There were very few things on the table; he noticed at once, only five or six.

There was a group of small candies, caramel by the looks of them, off to the right. To the left of those was a small, handheld version of the King James Bible, already looking worn and tattered. There was what looked like a regular ballpoint pen next to it, presumably for writing in the margins. Next to that was a simple rosary, made of regular blue and white beads with a small crucifix at the bottom. He would have to learn how to use that, he reminded himself for later, especially if he wanted to blend in. On the opposite end from the candies was a pair of battered trainers, Nike's by the looks of them.

Mr. Smithers himself was already busy back at work, a pair of glasses perched on his nose and tinkering with something extremely small. When Alex cleared his throat, he jumped guiltily and looked at Alex, who had to bite his tongue so he wouldn't laugh. The pair of spectacles he was wearing magnified the eyes behind them to two or three times their original size, making him look like a somewhat stunned beetle.

With a great flourish, Smithers removed the glasses and said in an apologetic tone, "Sorry Alex! I seem to have forgotten to give you the actual gadgets, haven't I?"

Not trusting himself to speak for fear of the laughter spilling out, Alex settled for a nod and a smile.

"Oh dear me," he said, "I _am_ getting older." He didn't seem all together too worried about the fact and moved straight to the table where Alex's things were waiting. "Of course," he said, "this was rather difficult, seeing as you're only allowed a Bible, a rosary, a pair of shoes and your own underclothes at this camp of theirs." He said the word 'camp' with disdain, "But I think I've managed well, given the circumstances..."

"These here," he said, picking up the pair of trainers by their laces and plopping them in Alex's lap, "actually used to belong to young Mr. Landry. I've made some adjustments, of course, including the shoelaces of the same sort Tamara Knight had, but it is quite lucky that you two are close enough to the same size."

Alex was wondering about these other adjustments when Smithers picked up the rosary. "This," he said, "is both a locating device and an emergency signal. The locating device will always be transmitting, so don't you worry about that, but if you ever find yourself in need of extreme assistance, just put the end," he gestured to the bottom end of the cross, "in this little indent in your right shoe. It should be powerful enough to overcome any interference or anything of the sort, and help will come running."

Alex nodded as Smithers moved on to the next item - the Bible. "This," he said, almost cradling it to his chest, "is a work of art. Modern technology at its finest. The ingenuity - oh, I'm sorry, I'll actually need to explain what it does, won't I?" Alex grinned at him before he continued. "Whatever you write on these pages, with quite a normal pen," he said, "will automatically be transmitted to the offices of the higher ups, so you can send notes, in a fashion. Unfortunately," he sighed, "I haven't gotten it to work the other way around yet, so you're alone in that regard."

But Alex's head was reeling. A way to send messages to headquarters without relying on bulky equipment? _I was right_, he grinned to himself, _Smithers is a bloody genius_.

Moving quickly through the items, Smithers picked the candies up next. "Unfortunately," he said, I think that these will probably be confiscated." He let out a deep sigh. "Oh well. If by some chance they don't, all you need to do is lick them to let them perform their specific functions."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "This red one here, what does it do?" he asked, curiously.

"Well, what do you think?" Mr. Smithers asked with a jovial smile lighting his features. "It explodes!"

Alex let out a real laugh at that one - leave it to Smithers find a way to make caramels explode.

"And the yellow?" he asked.

"That one's a sleeping gas, but make sure you stay at least twenty feet away at all times once you set it off - it's pretty potent."

"Will do," Alex said with a smile. "What about the green?"

"Ah, the green," Smithers sighed, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head. "The green, once licked, will send off a high frequency signal, effectively incapacitating any and all animal foes within a three mile radius."

"Impressive!" Alex said, though he was wondering what sort of animal foes he could possibly have to face. _As if religious nutcases weren't enough_, he thought to himself, _I have to deal with wild animals too?_ "Thanks much, Mr. Smithers," he said, packing it all into his bag. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Oh, it's never a problem, Alex, m'boy. Make it back in one piece, will you?"

Alex laughed. "I'll certainly try my best!"

* * *

Alex walked into his house slowly, hearing the door click as he unlocked it. The walk home hadn't been fun. Out of Smithers' office, where things were never taken seriously, the situation had hit home. He was going on another mission, possibly the most dangerous one yet. He was moving deliberately slowly, thinking that maybe if he moved slowly enough tomorrow would never come. But he knew already that it wasn't to be. Time flies when you least want it to and it was certainly flying now. Involuntarily, he checked his watch. 3:30. A little more than 24 hours until his flight left. It was time to face Jack.

It wasn't as if he was afraid of her, necessarily, more that he worried about her. Yes, that was it. He definitely was _not_ afraid of facing her disappointment.

His feet made little noise on the rug in the entryway. He could hear one of Jack's favourite bands playing loudly in the background and her voice humming along, occasionally butchering the lyrics. She was probably doing housework. She always played loud rock music while she worked, claiming it made her feel a little less like a suburbanite housewife.

Sure enough, when he peeked into the kitchen, there she was, drying dishes and oblivious to his presence.

"Jack?" he ventured.

She whirled around and dropped the plate she was currently drying.

"Oh, Alex, it's you." she said, seemingly relieved, before laying her eyes on the broken plate, a colourful mess of shards at her feet. "Damn," she said, pursing her lips and scrunching her eyebrows, "that's the one Ian brought back from Buenos Aires."

"I'm sorry..." he began apologizing, but she wove him off.

"No big deal," she said. "You'll just have to get me a new one!"

Alex grinned. There was something about Jack's sense of humour - he suspected that it was the drastic difference between her American brightness and the usual cutting sarcasm of the Brits - that always made him laugh.

"So where were you?" she asked, smiling at his grin. "I was starting to get worried. You're almost always home by three so you can work on that homework of yours."

Alex grimaced in response.

Jack grinned again, misconstruing his reaction. "I've been thinking that it's a little unnatural," she began, turning back to the sink and handing him a rag so he could dry dishes, "how eager you are to finish all that stuff. I don't know if I've ever seen a boy your age voluntarily do homework."

"Got to do it sometime, though, don't I?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her while he dried a pair of bright blue plastic chopsticks from Japan. "It's not as if I'm guaranteed to be home the next day."

She sighed, and the happy atmosphere melted. "I know," she said, resignedly, "I just hate how they can do that to you! It's as if they _want_ you to fail your GCSEs!"

Alex sighed. After a contemplative silence, Jack asked, "Did I get the abbreviation right? Those fu-," she paused, "... those stupid things always get me mixed up."

He smiled feebly and gathered his courage. "Yeah, that was good. Speaking of MI6, Jack, I've got another mission. That's where I was."

To his surprise, Jack's eyes didn't harden and she didn't start ranting. Instead, she sighed and closed her eyes, leaning against the counter. After a few moments, she spoke up. "I've been wondering when they'd get to you again. After all, you _did_ get a few weeks off." Her voice trailed into bitterness, not the disappointment that Alex had definitely _not_ been afraid of.

They sat in silence for a few minutes longer, both thinking along much the same lines, until Jack spoke again, "Did you know that I unplugged all the phones in the house?"

Alex started. He hadn't known that. It would explain the quiet house in his days off - they usually got at least a few calls a week from telemarketers.

Jack continued, "I thought that maybe if they couldn't call you, they couldn't get you. But I guess they figured a way around it." She looked to him again, where he was leaning comfortably on the counter. "How'd they get you? Did they find you on your way home, or something?"

"No," he sighed, "they pulled me out of school. Told Ms. Bedfordshire that I had a doctor's appointment."

"That's a new low," she remarked, her voice light. "I wonder what's next? Maybe they'll pull you out of the bathroom!"

He laughed and said, "I wouldn't put it past them."

"Me neither!" Jack laughed and clapped her hands together, seemingly done with such talk. "Okay then - you've got two options for dinner: khorkhog or ceviche."

Alex gave her a blank stare. "Khorkhog?" he asked. "What in God's name is khorkhog?"

Jack just grinned. "Ceviche it is!"

Alex felt a sudden rush of affection for Jack - in the seven and a half years that he had known her, she had come to be a sort of big sister to him, as well as primary caregiver.

"Jack?" he said, his voice low and embarrassingly crackly, "Thanks. For everything."

"Not a problem!" she said brightly, though her voice wasn't as steady as usual, he noted. "As long as you don't die on me, Alex."

That sentence made him frown. Why was everyone so concerned about him dying, all the sudden? First Smithers and now Jack... But Jack didn't notice his temporary discomfort. After she put the last dish away, she turned to him and ruffled his hair. "Go upstairs, Alex, and do that homework, will you?"

He mock scowled in her direction and grabbed his bag, which he had set on a chair, and turned toward the stairs. "Don't burn the ceviche, won't you Jack?" he yelled to her as he made his way to his bedroom, "I'm quite looking forward to it!"

* * *

After several hours of make up work and quite an interesting dinner of what he later learned was some sort of raw fish marinated in lemon juice, onions and chillies, (a dish even Jack couldn't have burned) he made his way back up to his room, strangely reluctant to go over the file. Going over the file would make it real. Alex snorted to himself. He needed to get a grip. The damn mission was real enough already.

He opened the file and glanced over it. This Alec Landry certainly looked similar enough to him. He had the blond hair and brown eyes, though his hair was matted and filthy in this picture. He was roughly the same height, a little shorter, and the same general build as Alex - athletic, though this boy looked too rough for any football games. Good. It would be easy enough to pass himself off as this Canadian boy, if he could get the accent right.

He spent the rest of the evening - until about midnight - memorizing the different things listed in the file. There were the Catholic prayers - the ones that Landry had known, as well as all of his background information. Landry had a troubled childhood, what with his parents dying before he had turned three, and he had been in and out of foster homes ever since. Three months ago he had run away, and within the first two weeks on the street he had found religion. He attended Mass daily in a church called the Immaculate Conception Catholic Church, and often visited a priest named Father George, who had been a sort of mentor to him. It was Father George, sensing his restlessness and afraid to lose another young person to drugs, who had recommended meeting with a local representative of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Of course, the poor man didn't know the extent of the extremism. Alex doubted anyone would have endorsed that.

He spent the rest of the night learning Canadian slang, reminding himself that they rarely, if ever, actually used phrases like "Eh?". Buried in his revising, he barely noticed when Jack opened his door to check on him, shook her head and said unnecessarily loudly, "Bed!"

Alex jumped, and then sent a sheepish smile in her direction. He was as prepared as was humanly possible. All that was left now was to live it.

* * *

AN: It's official. My muses are the weirdest ones out there - I have been trying to get this chapter written for days and today, when I finally decided that I was allowed to take a break, it came to me while I was emptying the dishwasher, of all things.

(In case anyone is interested, my muse is actually the band Muse, which I've made Jack a fan of. Isn't being the author fun?)

Thanks to everyone for their support, though I am a bit disappointed in the steady decline of reviews per chapter - at the moment, chapter six only has 15 reviews, a really sharp decline of the 51 I have for chapter two. I'll keep writing, but it would be nice to know that you all like it, or what I'm doing wrong if you don't! (Especially since this chapter is extra long – it could've been two separate chapters, which I almost did!)


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider or any other characters from Anthony Horowitz's stories. I am simply borrowing them.**

* * *

The blinding light of the desert sun was a stark departure from the ambient light of the plane he'd been stuck in for nearly seven hours. Though he had never thought of himself as particularly fair, he could feel the heat like scalding water on his arms. It wasn't much of a surprise, though – he'd read that Manama, the capital city of Bahrain and the first stop on his long journey, could reach up to 50 degrees Celsius in the height of the summer. Though it wasn't quite summer, it was still oppressively hot. Instantly regretting forgetting to pack any sunscreen, Alex shielded his eyes from the sun and took in the view.

The sight in front of him was enough to take his breath away. The city was a startling mix of traditional, towering Islam mosques and modern skyscrapers, though the combination looked comfortable rather than strange. The glass buildings reflected the ever-present sunlight, making the city glitter. Despite the modern touches, Alex saw a camel resting on its haunches only a few streets away, a man preparing to mount it, and a booth not too far away that was selling live chickens and still-flopping fish.

The city was such an enormous melting pot – less than a third of its inhabitants were native to Bahrain – that no one found it strange for a fair skinned teenager to be wandering the streets on his own, definitely foreign and most definitely _not_ lost. Alex was looking for the train station, as that was how he would begin the next leg of his journey, but the streets were winding and a fair few were unpaved and unlabeled. Most of the signs were written in Arabic, which he definitely did not read, and when he did find directions in English, they were either entirely wrong, or simply uninformative. (He had spent nearly twenty minutes walking in a giant circle, thanks to a grouping of signs that were completely mislabelled.) Frankly, it was good luck that his plane had gotten in early – he certainly would've missed his train had they not had extremely good weather for most of the flight.

Finally, after almost an hour of _not_ being lost, Alex stumbled across the train station, squashed between a skyscraper and a restaurant that described itself in English as "Chicken Place". Heaving a sigh of relief and adjusting the straps of his backpack, which had been digging into his shoulders all afternoon, he made his way into the station, showing his ticket and getting onto the rickety train. He was going to the southernmost point of the island nation, and figured he may as well get some sleep while he could. Pulling his pre-tattered Toronto Blue Jays hat over his eyes, Alex settled into the hard plastic chair and let the slow swaying of the train lull him off to sleep.

He awoke some time later to the screeching of the brakes. Wincing, he took in his surroundings. Besides the station and the lone rail they had arrived by, there was nothing but sand as far as the eye could see. Here the aggressive modernism of the city was gone – in its place was a desolate wasteland, nothing but a small market outside the station. The people here were nothing like their countrymen in the capital. They looked weary and most were thin – peddling their wares was a business they took seriously, and they did it aggressively, pushing and shoving their way in his direction, desperate to attract his attention and therefore his wallet. Alex had to dodge his way between them, keeping his head low, muttering vague apologies, and heading toward the lone taxi, dilapidated and old. He told the driver where he was headed and, after a small scare where the engine almost didn't start, they were on their way to the ocean.

Alex had never even heard of it before the evening before, but Bahrain was a small island only a little ways away from Saudi Arabia and a short boat ride away from the peninsula of Qatar. Alex had been given three things for his journey to the Horsemen's camp: a one way ticket from London to Manama, a pre-purchased train ticket to the most desolate train station in the country, and instructions to look for Ahmed (he was given no last name) at the pier closest to the train station. After that, Alex had absolutely no idea where he was going. He could be headed to Qatar, which was the richest country in the world, when calculated per capita, or Saudi Arabia whose human rights were the subject of concern worldwide. Somehow he didn't think that he'd be headed to Qatar.

After overpaying the taxi driver, Alex made his way warily to the dock. It was mostly empty, save for a group of men smoking cigarettes, the ends glowing like fireflies in the dark, and throwing the butts into the water, laughing and pushing one another. He approached them slowly, sure to make plenty of noise. He inwardly smiled at his thoughts, which were comparing the similarities between men and animals. Approach loudly and slowly, which gives them plenty of time to deduce whether or not you are a threat. Don't look up too often, as a lot of animals (and men, for that matter) see that as a sign of aggression. Make them think they have the upper hand, and then they'll be more likely to underestimate you. Come to think of it, these were a lot of Alex's most frequently used reminders while he was "working". Without remembering most of them (and he remembered with an odd mixture of sadness and amusement that Ian had taught him most of this after Alex had come home at age six with a bite on his leg from a fight with down-the-road Mrs. Rayburn's vicious Yorkshire terrier, Fooshie), he would probably be dead by now. Making his way toward the now-watching men, Alex bit back a snort. It was just excellent. His life depended on the fact that most men behaved like wild animals.

"Ahmed?" he tried, testing his Canadian accent. It wasn't too difficult, all things considered. He knew Canadians and Americans shared mostly the same accent, maybe with a little lengthening of some vowels. He had tried it out quickly on Jack that morning, just before the MI6-sanctioned escort had arrived, the same man who had picked Alex up from school only the previous day, and Jack had claimed that she would never know that he was really a teenage British spy pretending to be a scruffy Canadian runaway in a million years. He had scowled, jokingly, but the forced lightheartedness was broken when the doorbell rang.

Shaking himself out of his memory-induced stupor, Alex saw one man, dark-skinned, thin as a skeleton, and smoking, step out of the small group. He eyed Alex up and down, and Alex made it a point to look tired and a little bit intimidated, bringing his shoulders closer together and refusing to look the man in the eye, instead choosing to glance at the smooth-as-silk ocean behind him, the moon almost fully reflected in the glassy water. Seemingly satisfied, Ahmed nodded.

"I am Ahmed," he said with a strong accent that Alex couldn't quite place, "I bring you. You have paper?"

Alex took out the paper in question. It was merely a sheet with an illegible signature on it, but he looked satisfied as he folded it twice and put it safely into his pocket, patting it before moving on.

The man turned around, nodding at his friends and making his way toward a frighteningly small boat with ominous patches littering the side of it. Alex hesitatingly followed, looking unsure as to his next step.

"Come!" Ahmed said, gesturing with both hands to the barely-visible step. Alex hesitated a moment more before climbing in with as much grace as he could muster, which was a fair bit.

Sitting on the lone seat after prodding it to ensure that he would not fall through, Alex was a little confused when Ahmed didn't immediately start the boat. Looking around in the dark for the frail man, he spotted him digging through a small crate. He dug out a piece of cloth spotted with what looked to be oil.

Ahmed made his way toward Alex, examining the cloth as he came. He seemed satisfied with it and folded it expertly into what looked like a long triangle. Alex groaned inwardly but suppressed any outward displays of emotion, trying to figure how Alec Landry would react in a situation such as this. After a moment, Alex spoke up.

"D'you have to? It's not as if I'm going to tell anyone. Who'd I tell, anyway?" he protested.

But the man's command of the English language seemed to extend no further than the most basic of sentences. Ignoring Alex's growing protests, he tied the cloth around his eyes quite tightly, so not even a speck of moonlight shone through. Alex gave a frustrated huff and settled into his seat, preparing himself for a long ride.

It wasn't, in fact, particularly long. He lost track of time easily with only the slight breeze and the quiet puttering of the boat to keep him company, but it couldn't have been more than two hours. He almost tumbled out of his seat as the boat abruptly ran into something, though whether it was a beach or a dock he couldn't tell. He regained his balance and stood slowly, wary of tumbling now that his vision was cut off.

He heard the grunts of activity and brief shouts in Arabic around him that meant they were either anchoring or being pulled into the dock. Much as he tried, he couldn't make out anything of any significance.

He was standing patiently, his backpack straps still digging uncomfortably into his shoulders, when a hand with spindly fingers grabbed his arm. He yelped, deciding it fit into his character, and tensed, but the hand didn't seem interested in doing more than leading him off the boat. Two meaty hands grabbed him off of the boat and lifted him on to hard ground – a dock, then. No one was showing any indication that the blindfold was coming off anytime soon, so he let them lead him across a rocky path. He found himself hoping that the transmitter Smithers had designed was as strong as he said it was, because he would be absolutely no help if they needed to find this place in any sort of hurry.

After several occasions where he nearly tripped, the grip on his arm finally loosened. The blindfold wasn't removed and he found himself being lifted easily into what felt like a supremely uncomfortable car. The seats felt like maybe they had once been somewhat nice, but they had degraded into a state of solidness so complete they felt like plastic underneath him. He grimaced. He knew not to expect private jets or glorious Caribbean islands, but would seats that wouldn't bruise his bum really be too much to ask for?

The road was bumpy, jarring his head every few seconds, making it impossible to sleep. He would've liked to sleep, seeing as he had been awake for almost all of the past fourteen hours, but unfortunately, the constant rumbling and head jarring were making it difficult. Every time he came close to drifting off, they would go over a bump, or stop short (he wasn't quite sure why, but he assumed it had something to do with the annoyed words he assumed were swears coming from up front every time this happened), or make a sharp turn and Alex would hit his head on the side of the car. Finally, after an uncomfortable while – Alex couldn't tell quite how long – they started to slow.

* * *

"He has made a fool of us," the woman said seething. The anger distorted her beautiful face, turning it into something grotesque. Neither of the other two people in the room, lit only by one flickering candle, paid her any mind, however. They were far too used to her tempers to rise to the bait.

"Calm yourself," said the man, and the woman complied, if slowly. His voice was mesmerising; even had she not known him, she would have obeyed. He had that effect on people, no matter their race, gender, age, or level of sanity.

"There are things that can be done," the other woman, the composed one, said, "many things that will make them regret the day they ever crossed the Horsemen of the Apocalypse."

The man nodded. "Our Lord has given us an opportunity to redeem ourselves from our failure, and we shall seize upon it. One does not ignore gifts given by the Lord."

The two women nodded, for once in agreement.

"My pride is a sin, I know," the angry woman said, after a few moments' pause, "but I cannot help but to wish to redeem myself. My performance has been far from satisfactory." She looked contrite, gazing at her hands, fingers interlocking on the table's surface. The candle on the table cast a shadow over them all, and it made her look like a fallen angel, a stark contrast to the gargoyle of only moments before. The man put a hand on hers, to reassure her.

"It shall be done," the man replied, and a slow grin spread across the woman's face. "Whatever you feel to be appropriate, Mitsuko."

"Rider will pay with his life," Mitsuko replied, her words not loud nor sharp, but powerful all the same.

The unnamed woman nodded again, breaking her silence. "He remains completely unaware of the fact that he has been doomed to failure."

"When will he arrive?" the woman known as Misuko asked.

"Tonight," the man replied, "soon."

One corner of Mitsoku's mouth lifted into what could be called a smile. "I am going to enjoy this. Oh, yes, I'm going to have lots of fun with Alex Rider."

The candle on the table sputtered and died.

* * *

Read and review. (Please? I'm really sorry about the delay... runs and hides)


	9. Chapter 9

Ok. I have a million and one reasons why this took so long, including mountains of summer work, suddenly hard homework and two and a half hours of practice after school, but all I can say is that I'm sorry. I'll try to get chapters up faster from now on, but this year is looking to be a tough one.

Also, a minor disclaimer about the religious stuff that is involved in this and later chapters – it is not meant to offend, and I'm really sorry if it does. I'm Catholic myself, so trust me, I'm not going for Christianity-bashing.

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider or any other characters from Anthony Horowitz's stories. I am simply borrowing them.**

* * *

It was still dark when car from hell came to a complete stop, but it was the kind of darkness that spoke of dawn. There were no clouds, making every star in the sky visible. He spotted the North Star, the same even though he was halfway around the world, and took note. Looking around, he could see nothing but sand from horizon to horizon, save for an old-fashioned oil rig off in the distance.

The driver, a black man with a bald head and muscles that appeared to pop out of his skin, grabbed his forearm tightly, a grip that even Alex would find difficult, if not impossible, to escape. The man led him apparently nowhere, toward the peak of an enormous mound of sand, bigger than any hill he had ever seen – in England and elsewhere. They climbed and climbed, and both were panting by the time they reached the crest.

Alex was surprised by what he saw. Whatever his mind had cooked up, it certainly wasn't this. It looked remarkably similar to the barracks at Breacon Beacons, but with smaller buildings. A few tents were scattered around as well, making the whole place look oddly like a summer camp. There were no obstacle courses or death houses, but instead a wooden church with an enormous cross decorating the front. Alex absorbed all of this in the seconds before the large man (Alex had dubbed him Muscles, for obvious reasons) led him down, toward one of the larger tents on the outskirts of the camp.

Squinting his eyes against the harsh glare of the sun, Alex was barely able to make out the word REGISTRATION in faded red lettering on the side of the tent, printed in several languages. His heart rate sped up imperceptibly as he entered, though his face didn't change expression.

There was a young woman at the desk; her brown hair tied back, reading the Bible. Her copy looked more worn than Alex's did, and she didn't glance up as the two entered.

Muscles cleared his throat. "Miss Smith?" he questioned, his voice deep and sounding vaguely African, "Mr. Landry is here."

Smith finally looked up and smiled. She had a kind face, with brown eyes and a nose scattered with freckles, which Alex immediately memorized in case he needed to identify her later.

"Mr. Landry!" she exclaimed, putting a small leather strip on her page before closing the book. "How good it is to finally have you here! How was your trip?"

"Long," Alex answered, taking note of the American accent, "but worth it. It's beautiful here."

Smith beamed. "I'm glad you think so! I personally think this is one of the most beautiful spots on Earth, though that may be because of what we do here, as opposed to the pretty desolate landscape."

Alex gave her a half-smile, hoping it could be interpreted as a sign of jetlag rather than one of disgust. How could any organization that voluntarily killed people like Mr. Wells, Chloe or Kwan call itself beautiful?

Miss Smith saw the exhaustion in his expression and hurried to talk again. "Oh, you must be so tired, Alec! Is it okay if I call you Alec? Where did you fly from again? Canada?"

Alex nodded. "Toronto," he said, adjusting the Toronto Blue Jays cap, seemingly subconsciously, "to London, and then to Manama. After that, I'm not so sure."

Smith smiled again. Her face looked like it might crack in half, and her cheery tone, coupled with her liberal use of exclamation marks, was beginning to irritate him.

"Toronto, eh?" she laughed, putting an audible accent on the second word. "I've never been there, just to Montreal. Will you miss it?"

Alex shrugged and said, "Not much to miss is there? Not like I had any family there."

There was an awkward silence, Alex's favourite kind. Muscles looked uncomfortable and Smith's smile had slipped off of her face. Within a few seconds, however, it was back, looking faker than ever before.

"Well let's get going then, Alec!" she said, her voice hitting an even higher register. Alex wondered vaguely as she led him through a flap in the tent whether that frequency would have the same effect as the green candy Smithers had given him - capable of incapacitating any nearby animals. Somehow, he didn't think he would be terribly surprised.

She led him into a room where there were two more bulky men – there certainly didn't seem to be any lack of them at this camp. Smith turned to him again, twirling a bit of her brown hair around her finger.

"Um... Alec?" she asked, her face turning curiously pink, "I'm going to leave for this part. These lovely guys are going to have to search you."

"Search me?" Alex responded, confused, before it dawned on him. "Oh!" he shouted, trying somewhat successfully to blush, "Oh, man."

"Sorry about this Alec," she said, already closing the tent flap behind her, "but it's for your own safety."

* * *

In the end, all they ended up confiscating were his candies, though the experience wasn't exactly fun. Alex made a mental note to remember to listen for an explosion coming from the general vicinity of the Registration tent sometime soon.

As Smith led the way to his "dwelling" (her word, not his), Alex thought over what he still had: the Bible with the cool transmitter ability, the rosary that sent out the constant locator beacon, and the shoes that sent out the extra strength emergency signal. Not very much, and now there was nothing offensive. Nothing good for spying, nothing good for snooping. All he had to rely on now were his own skills, smarts and luck. But, he figured, that wasn't very much different than ever before.

"Right now is personal time, Alec, so your roommates will most likely be in their beds. Most campers either use this time for sleeping or personal prayer. I recommend personal prayer, especially as you're new to the church. There are just so many things you have yet to discover in the Bible! But of course, you'll be very sleepy, so I won't blame you if you take a catnap. Just ask your roommates to wake you in time for the morning service, alright?"

Alex blinked and nodded slowly, trying to see if he could remember everything she said. He didn't think she had stopped to take a breath. But before he could ask her to repeat it, slowly this time, they were there.

It wasn't much - just a fairly large tent with a number 49 taped to the side of it. Alex couldn't bring himself to look nervous as he entered, just tired. He unzipped the zipper, sounding very loud with just the whispering of the desert wind to hide it. Blinking a few times to adjust his eyes to the surprising darkness, Alex noticed three cots squeezed into the small space - two with sleeping bags and pillows, one looking invitingly bare.

There were two boys on the cots - one a redhead with so many freckles it gave the appearance of a tan, the other a boy with very dark hair and the beginnings of a moustache. Both were reading Bibles, though the redhead was tapping a pen to an erratic beat. Neither looked up as he entered. He cleared his throat and dropped his few belongings at the end of his bed, wondering where the sleeping bags came from.

"You must be Alec!" the redhead shouted, jumping off of his cot and tangling himself in his bedding in the process, falling onto the ground. He was still holding up his hand, as if to shake, so Alex took it with a small smile.

"That would be me," he answered, "and who are you?"

"Oh!" he said, pushing himself off of the ground and jumping up. He had a strong Irish accent, which made Alex quite weirdly think of Jack and her love of imitating accents, especially Irish and Scottish (and one she claimed was Slovakian, though it sounded more like gibberish). "M' name's Nevaeh. Pronounced Na-vay-ah. It's heaven spelled backwards. Course, I wasn't born that, I was born Eric, but I changed it a couple years ago when I got really into religion."

At this point Alex looked to the other boy, the darker one, but he still wasn't looking up. He made no move to introduce himself.

"That there's Yayah. Sick name, if you ask me, but he doesn't talk much. Actually, I don't think I've ever heard him talk. He's a nice bloke, though. He's from wherever we are right now, and this is the first time he's ever been able to practice in public and I don' think he's quite used to it, if you ask me, which you didn't."

Alex blinked a few more times, Nevaeh's voice being even more difficult to understand than Smith's. Not the accent, but the speed which he was talking at made most of the words blend together.

"Course," he said, "I didn't really get into religion at all until a few years ago."

"Beats me," Alex said, sitting on this edge of what he assumed was his bed. "I only got into it a few months ago. What made you more serious about it?"

"The Underground Bombings." Nevaeh replied, suddenly less of a hyperactive teenager and more of what Alex expected in this place - a serious, brooding adult. "Me ma and little sister were in London that day, looking to get me a birthday present." Alex was suddenly uncomfortable. Listening to the sufferings of others was not something he was particularly comfortable with.

"They only go once a year, you see," he continued, "and they just went on the wrong day. They didn't die in the explosion." he said, talking less to Alex now than himself, "It took them a few weeks, and while they were in hospital, I got to talking with the priest there. He helped me a lot, and now here I am. I can't think of anywhere I would rather be. What about you?" he asked, "It's your turn. What made you religious rather than apathetic?"

Alex shrugged. "It's pretty similar to your story. My parents died years ago, and I got shuffled around from home to home. I got sick of it and went to the streets. Tried some stuff, some stuff I regret now, but Father George found me and helped me out. Jesus saved me."

"I know what you mean, Alec," he started to say, but Alex yawned before he could continue.

"Sorry, Nevaeh, but I'm kind of falling asleep. I had a long trip. Would you wake me up if we need to be somewhere? I'm not really sure what I'm doing yet."

"Course!" he said, smiling again, "I think the first thing you'll need to get to is tonight's service. Father M doesn't much mind if people miss the first service on their first day here. It's a lot to get used to. So I'll get you up before that?"

"Sure, that would be great. Thanks a ton," Alex replied, searching the tent for any spare sleeping bags, pillows, anything. Finding one under the cot, he unrolled it and crawled in, not even bothering to take his trainers off. He rolled over and put his head under his pillow, wondering silently how he would ever be able to act this sort of fanaticism.

* * *

Hold on tight guys. The ride only gets faster from here.


	10. Chapter 10

So... I keep saying that these waits will get shorter, don't I? Oops. But I hope you like this chapter – here's where things are _really_ getting good. Hold on tight guys!

Thanks as always to my beta CunningMascara, and another thanks this time to my brain twin cricketchick1990, whose kind words really make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

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**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider or any other characters from Anthony Horowitz's stories. I am simply borrowing them.**

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The next thing he knew, he was being roughly shaken awake by a calloused hand. Before he had even opened his eyes, he had twisted the arm on his shoulder around almost a full rotation. He only dimly registered the shouting through his sleep-muddled brain.

"Uncle! Hey, Alec, I said uncle! You can let go now!"

Waking fully in a start, Alex glanced at his hand, which was tightly gripping a freckled wrist.

"Damn! Sorry, Nevaeh, didn't mean to do that," Alex exclaimed, letting him go.

"'S ok," he said, rubbing at his shoulder. "Life on the streets must be pretty rough, huh?"

Alex, thinking of the other reasons he had to wake up defensive, allowed the dark look on his face to leak through his normally sealed exterior. "Pretty rough, yeah," he agreed.

"I won't ask," Nevaeh said, miming zipping his lips. "But I should warn you, they don't tolerate swearing here, especially if you take the Lord's name in vain."

"You speaking from experience?" Alex grinned, his mask changing again, standing up in the short tent and running his fingers through his hair.

"Maybe," Nevaeh said, turning a light shade of pink. At Alex's entertained look he said, "Oh, come on! Old habits are hard to break!"

"True," Alex said, laughing. "Didn't you say earlier that there's a service we need to be getting to?"

"Blimey, you're right," he said, jumping to his feet from the edge of his cot. "I'll show you how to get there. Yayah left a bit ago; he usually likes to sit in front."

Alex decided not to comment on the boy's intensity. After all, wasn't he meant to be just as intense?

They made their way to the church laughing, but a spark of something grew in the air as they got closer. Nevaeh seemed to be getting excited. It wasn't tension, it was more anticipation. Alex couldn't put a name to the exact feeling, but it did make him wonder what exactly he was getting himself into.

They pushed their way through the hastily constructed wooden doors and Alex took the place in. It wasn't enormous – big enough for two hundred people or so. It was lit by candle, the flickering casting shadows on the floor. There was a quiet murmur of voices, people exchanging words before the service began. Most were smiling, and Alex was shocked to see a woman with a small baby, a rattle in his mouth, off to his left. Seeing his raised eyebrows, Nevaeh smiled.

"I thought she was crazy too, at first. But everyone helps out. His name's Gabriel. Ironically enough, hers is Mary," he said, by way of explanation.

Alex made himself look away, and instead turned his gaze to the other people populating the church. Most looked normal. It was a truly diverse group, he noted with interest. There were Asian people, black people, white people, young, old, middle aged, and quite a few teenagers. A girl who looked to be about his age, maybe older, with a shock of red hair that grew past the middle of her back, was sitting near the front of the church. As if she had felt his eyes on her, she turned to where he and Nevaeh were. Her eyes brightened, and she stood, mumbling apologies to the people she had to scoot past to leave the pew.

Nevaeh whispered to him as she made her way up, "That's Erin," he said, and paused. "She's a bit of an odd bird, but devoted enough." Alex nodded and watched her come their way.

"'Lo Nevaeh!" she said, and smiled pleasantly at them. "And who's this?" she asked, looking at Alex.

"Hey, Erin," he said, smiling. "This is Alec. He just got here earlier today, from Canada."

"Nice to meet you, Alec," she said, holding out her hand to shake. Alex shook it, surprised by the calluses that were present on her fingers as well. "Nice to meet you too," Alex said, memorizing her features, "Erin, was it?"

"Way to introduce us, Nevvie!" she said, elbowing him in the ribs playfully. With the shared red hair and playful mannerisms Alex would've called them brother and sister. "Yes, I'm Erin," she said, smiling. She flipped her hair back and seemed to blink a few more times than was probably normal.

Alex waited a moment before asking, "...Nevvie?" in a faintly incredulous tone.

Nevaeh blushed again. He seemed to be easily embarrassed. "She decided that Nevaeh is too hard to say in one go. Though it's really not, it's only three syllables..." his voice drifted off as Erin glared at him.

"I'm big on nicknames," she said, taking her gaze off of Nevaeh and putting the slightly disconcerting blue eyes on him instead. "Too bad yours is so short already." She sighed, but she seemed to be done. Indeed, the general noise level in the church was winding down.

"Come and sit with me," she said, grabbing his and Nevaeh's forearms and shepherding them toward where she had been sitting earlier. Her hands were cold, Alex noticed with detached interest.

They had only been settled in for a few moments when a hush settled over the church. The intense anticipation from earlier returned, and Alex was reminded of the atmosphere of a few professional football games he had attended, the moment where the crowd was sitting on the edge of their seats, awaiting a call that could change the outcome of the game. It was a silly comparison, he knew, but it felt similar. The candles flickered.

Before long a man walked out – Alex supposed it was the Father M everyone had been speaking of. According to the file he was given, his real name was Mohammad, but apparently no one called him that. He reached the pulpit and gazed at his audience, his parishioners. His eyes skimmed the audience until they met Alex's. They were a dark shade of brown, and very guarded. He looked at Alex a moment more before he spoke.

"Good evening," he said in a deep voice without accent, and the rest of the congregation repeated his greeting, Alex joining in a half of a beat too late. "I would like to welcome tonight an addition, newly arrived from Canada. Would you care to stand, Alec Landry?"

Trying to make himself blush, Alex stood and ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt at a nervous habit. He was startled when everyone started clapping. Looking around, he could see people smiling at him, and nodding, giving him their approval. He gave a slight strained grin and sat down again. After the applause died out, Father M spoke again.

"Please do your best to make Mr. Landry's transition as easy for him as possible. I'm sure everyone remembers their first few days here," he said, and the group chuckled, seemingly in unison, "and I know how much it helps to have a kind face present." There was an undertone to his words that Alex noticed – he couldn't pinpoint it, and it was so small it was almost nonexistent, but it bothered him nonetheless. His intuition was flickering.

After that, no one paid him much mind. Father M – a large man with a powerful voice – bellowed the service so that at times even Alex found himself following, and not just pretending to. He spoke of the incoming fires of Hell, how humanity was on its last legs, how it was up to them to save their race. Alex had to admit, he was very compelling. To take people who had little left to their lives and give them a purpose – it was very smart.

After an hour and a half of the service, and then Communion, it got down to the nitty gritty. Father M was at the pulpit, but he was no longer preaching. As a matter of fact, he was begging. Begging for money, begging for resources, there was begging, begging, and more begging. Alex supposed it explained the people who had shown up at his school – these people were desperate for cash. He could only hope the current lack of it was postponing any sinister activity.

* * *

As Alex watched the sermon, there were two familiar faces watching him. Hidden in the back of the church, along the shadows of the flickering candles, two women were discussing his fate.

"The Father has said that he will give him one last chance," the calmer woman said in her clipped, slightly posh tone, dislike hidden in her words.

"He deserves no second chances," the angry woman hissed as quietly as possible, aware as always of the fact that they were in a house of God.

"Everyone deserves a second chance, Takami," the first woman said, reproachfully. "Rider will be given a chance to repent. _If_ he fails to do so, you can have your way with him."

The second woman was torn. The more bloodthirsty side of her nature did not wish him to repent, but her more refined side reminded her that repentance was the pathway to Heaven, and that she should wish it for everyone. But then she thought of Rider again, and that insolent, smirking face, taunting her, and the bloodthirsty side won.

"He will not repent," Mitsuko said, her voice sure and steady. "You surely know that as well as I do, Lewis. He deserves to be punished. He will set the example, and the whole world will know who we are."

The two women quieted and when an _Amen_ echoed through the eaves, their voices were among the strongest.

* * *

Getting settled into the schedule at camp, which involved twice daily services, hours of physical labour which they spent "preparing" (for what, Alex had never been told, but it involved lots of hammering), and a few hours every day for meals and personal prayer, took less time than Alex had expected. After three days, full of diligent reports to MI6 during the few precious private hours every day, thanking Smithers every time he uncapped the pen, he could honestly say that he knew the place backward and forward. It wasn't the location that he needed to know, though, it was the eventual goals of this program, and he was no closer to that than he had been when he started.

He was thinking this over in the middle of his fourth day, flipping through his worn Bible, when Smith came into their tent. Closing the book, he looked over to her. She was smiling at him.

"Father M wants to see you, Alec," she said, looking generally unconcerned. "Nothing to worry about, he just likes to talk to all those new to us after the first three days or so to see how they're settling."

Hopping off of his cot, Alex nodded. He followed her around to the general back of the area, where the tents started becoming smaller and more scattered. Leading him to the smallest tent, Smith called out, "Father? Alec and I are here!"

He emerged after a moment, looking smaller somehow than he did while bellowing on the pulpit. With a nod at Smith, he gestured for Alex to enter behind him. Alex's intuition was flickering again. This man was dangerous, he knew that much (it would be hard not to – he had sent bloody terrorists to Brookland, for heaven's sake!), but he wasn't sure to what lengths this man would go to himself. He would just have to be on constant alert until he had determined the level of danger, was all.

Father M had almost the exact same tent that Alex did – a small one, with cots. He had two, though one of them looked to be used more as table than a bed. He sat down on the edge of his neatly-made cot and motioned for Alex to do the same. Hesitating slightly, Alex sat next to the man. Father M smiled; an unusual gesture on the solemn man.

"I have unfortunately never had the opportunity to speak to you one on one, Alec," he said, patting him on the shoulder.

Alex shrugged. "You're a very busy man," he said, trying to sound both respectful and interested at the same time.

"This is true," he laughed, almost too heartily. He seemed to be on edge about something, Alex noted. He reminded himself to stay true to his role, as to not arouse further suspicions. "But it is also true," he said, "that people often need guidance, and I regret that I have not yet been able to offer you this guidance." He paused. "Is there something you would like to share with me, Alec?"

Alex saw the loaded question immediately. His life was hanging in the balance here, and he disliked that fact. He shrugged. "Nothing in particular. I think I'm getting the hang of things here."

"You are sure, Alec? I know that young men such as yourself often have quite a few troubles you should like to... get off of your chest, metaphorically speaking." His gaze was intense, probing. Alex returned it without blinking.

"I'm good. I'm over my life before now. It isn't worth spending time on, when there are other, much worthier pursuits."

A response like that would likely leave the good old Father grasping for straws, which was Alex's intention. He couldn't exactly fault Alex for saying a thing like that, and yet, he couldn't continue to squeeze responses out of him without looking suspicious.

Sure enough, the tent was silent for a moment while the Father recollected his thoughts. After a period of time that Alex deemed sufficient, he asked, "Can I go?" in the quietest voice he could manage, trying to sound meek. Father M only nodded. Alex made his way out of the tent and into the desert, shielding his eyes from the blinding glare.

The conversation had disconcerted him more than he would admit, even to himself. It was as if the Father was trying to make him rat himself out, but that didn't make any sense. If they knew he was here as a spy, he would've been dead by now. He made his way back to his own tent, his mind running in circles.

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Please review.


	11. Chapter 11

Wow, no one seemed to catch my big reveal from last chapter! And here I thought I was being so obvious... Some minor swearing in this chapter, but the story _is_ rated T, so if you can't deal, you probably shouldn't be reading it. Thanks again to Cunning Mascara who puts up with my weird updating urges. (And gives me edits that I don't put up for a week!)

And now the beginning of the end approaches...

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By the time he had reached his tent, he had decided that something would be done, that night. The faster he could get out of this hell on earth, the better. He didn't like not knowing exactly what his enemies knew or did not know of him. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

That night once the stars had brightened up the sky considerably, he waited until he could hear the steady, even breathing that meant both Yayah and Nevaeh were asleep, and climbed out of his cot, still fully dressed. He slipped his trainers on and slid out of the tent with as little noise as possible from the zipper. Taking a deep breath, Alex navigated his way to Father M's tent.

The night was quiet and mostly still - gentle gusts of wind occasionally stirred up the sand, but that worked to his advantage by covering the crunchy sound his trainers made on the ground. Ducking between darkened tents, he heard a baby that must have been Gabriel let out a cry on the other side of the camp. He froze for a moment but continued after he heard nothing else.

His heart started to beat more quickly as he approached the tent. Contrary to the others he had passed, this one wasn't dark - and he could see three shadows, one pacing and two sitting, in the dim candlelight. He lowered himself closer to the ground as he got closer, until he was flat on his stomach and right next to the tent.

"... arriving tomorrow night, Mitsuko. Have patience," a voice easily identified as Father M's said.

Alex's ears perked up. The Asian woman who had killed Mr. Wells had been named Mitsuko, and she had escaped, so it was interesting to know that she was actually here. He had to remember to write that down later.

"I'm sorry, Father," she replied. Alex confirmed her identity. The voice was exactly the same – foreign and crisp. The same voice he would've called beautiful had it not been for the circumstances. "But it is often difficult for me."

"You will have your chance in little more than twenty four hours, Takami," another female voice said. It sounded oddly familiar to Alex, but he couldn't place it. "Surely even you can wait that long?"

There was no response, but Alex could picture the look on Takami's frightening face.

"Of course I can wait that long," Takami responded, "but Rider deserves his punishment _now_!" The word 'now' was punctuated by a fist slamming on something hard, probably a book.

Alex insides grew cold. The conversation had turned to platitudes now, Father M calming Takami down. It looked like they wouldn't be discussing anything else of importance that night. So they _did_ know who he was, and they were intending on 'punishing' him, whatever that meant. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know what their so-called 'punishment' would entail.

Alex crept slowly back to his tent, his mind spinning. Who, or what, was arriving tomorrow night? It looked like that was when things would be coming to a head. He had to warn MI6.

But he could only hope that that was time enough.

* * *

He woke the next morning quickly; dread rapidly reasserting its place in his stomach. With the emergency message sent, all that was lefts was to hope for a miracle.

Pushing the useless sensation of anxiety away, he tried to joke with Nevaeh on the way to the morning service. It was a bit odd - this was the first time he had interacted with someone his own age like this in quite a long time, if one didn't count Tom. Most of his peers found him too mysterious or too quiet, making for quite the boring social life. If he got out of this alive he would have to make it a point to make some friends.

As they made their way into the wooden building, they met Erin, as had become custom. Alex wasn't quite sure what to make of Erin. She was overly friendly to him, always smiling and blinking and touching his arm. If he wasn't mistaken, she was _flirting_ with him. It was distinctly odd. The only experience he'd ever had with girls was with Sabina, and they were (as far as he knew, anyway) just friends. There was a group of a few girls at his school did giggle whenever he walked by them, though.

As usual, Erin grabbed both of their hands and led them to where she had picked to sit that day. Making sure to flip her hair again and smile at him, she pushed past Nevaeh to sit next to him. They all listened to the service intently; Alex more so than usual, to see if he could garner any hints to who, or what, exactly was arriving that night. Father M spoke more of the end of the world, quoting Revelations several times. And then, breaking his format, he went to Genesis, the first book of the Bible, which described the Garden of Eden and the creation of man and woman.

"That'll be you and I, Alex," Erin said suddenly, whispering. "When the world ends, and the worthy replenish it... Eden will be restored." Her voice faded away. She had not looked at him once, still engrossed in the homily, but Alex was too startled by her words to pay much more attention to the now wildly-gesticulating man on the pulpit. So those were the aims of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, were they? To cause the end of the world as described in Revelations and then 'replenish' it with those deemed worthy? How... unsurprising. If he was being honest with himself, he had seen something along those lines coming for a long while now.

With troubled eyes, Alex looked back to Father Mohammad. He was back to Revelations, quoting and paraphrasing like mad.

"Repent!" he spat, "'Repent, or else I will come unto thee quickly, and will fight against them with the sword of My mouth.' Revelation 2:16." The citation was said quietly, almost as an afterthought, like a whisper in comparison to the fervent words of before. But it wasn't the tone that frightened Alex. It was the fact that the large man was staring right at him. Most other parishioners were too dewy eyed to notice the stormy and conflicted gaze between the two.

"'He that hath an ear,'" Father M said, quoting again, "'let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches.'" Alex got the message. Repent, there was still a chance. But repent for what? For dismantling an organization that killed innocents, murdered school teachers with no thoughts but to their own gains? For trying to save lives, his entire class among them?(1) For not being an absolute, raving _lunatic_? Alex tightened his jaw but did not look away. On the pulpit, Father M did the same.

* * *

The day passed by oddly slowly, as if each moment felt the need to root itself in his memory. He dug latrines. He sent more notice to MI6. He pretended to read the Bible while he doodled in the margins. He listened to Father M bluster at that evening's service. He avoided Erin and joked with Nevaeh. In all honesty, it was almost exactly the same as every day before it had been, though there was a slight difference: something was coming. Alex could taste it in the air, and it was something big.

People looked at one another with loaded gazes, whispering often, in corners and behind walls. They flicked their gaze to him before looking to the ground. No one but Nevaeh and Erin spoke to him at all.

He debated not going to sleep that night, as his intuition was telling him that something was off, that something was going to happen. He decided, however, that whatever was coming was coming, and he would have to be ready to face it when it did. Depriving himself of sleep wouldn't accomplish anything.

All the same, Alex didn't fall asleep for a long time, the sense of foreboding heavy in his stomach.

* * *

He woke up to a heavy weight on his stomach, another on his legs, and something scratchy around his hands. Despite the situation, Alex couldn't help but think bitterly that he should've trusted his intuition. Struggling to sit, he thrashed and punched and tried to turn, but all he got in return were a few _oomphs_ and a punch to the face. His face now throbbing, Alex tried to throw the people off his body, but it wasn't working.

After his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, Alex could see that it was _people_ surrounding him. As a matter of fact, they looked to be very _familiar_ people. Yayah had placed himself on Alex's stomach, making it rather difficult to breathe properly, his gaze menacing. Nevaeh was looming over Alex, his gaze more serious and threatening than he had ever seen it.

He managed a few more punches and wild thrashes before two people – he couldn't tell who, but they were ridiculously strong – managed to grab his wrists and force them together. Alex resisted with all his might, but he was powerless against this many, especially unable to stand. A rope was tied, tightly, around his wrists and a gag was tied around his mouth.

"I'm sorry about this, Alec," Nevaeh said, though he didn't look sorry at all. "Or should I have said Alex? Alex bloody Rider, apparently, not Alec Landry like I thought I'd been getting to know."

A few hisses and whispered oaths supported Nevaeh's words. Alex continued to struggle, but he knew it was mostly pointless now. With his hands tied, he couldn't do anything until they sat him up.

"You will pay, Alex," Erin jeered from somewhere behind Nevaeh, her voice dripping with malice. The group seemed to agree. It failed to give Alex any good feelings about what was coming.

With a heavy shove, he was pushed to his feet. He stumbled, but the sheer mass of people prevented a fall. Getting an idea, Alex waited until everyone seemed to be standing and let out a low kick, hoping to trip up a few people and cause a chain reaction. The people nearest him fell, and he heard a few low swears, causing him to think strangely of the conversation he had had with Nevaeh on his first day, before he jumped over the tangle of bodies, hands finding holes between people, and shoved his way toward the tent exit.

He heard a muffled, "Get him!", and someone ran at him and grabbed his waist, like something you would see in a game of rugby or an American football game. They both fell hard and Alex knew that he had just lost his only chance for escape. He stopped struggling.

"Good," Nevaeh said roughly. "Now let's take him to the church."

Though it wasn't particularly eloquent, Alex felt that his one thought very neatly summed up the situation.

_Oh, shit_.

* * *

He stumbled his way through the desert sand, desperate for any way to delay the journey. Unfortunately, however, this seemed to do nothing but anger his captors, so he stopped. The gag was cutting irritatingly into his skin, a fact not made better by the sand now wedged between his mouth and the piece of cloth.

In no time at all, he could see the giant cross looming overhead. The small mob slammed open the church doors and flooded in, and Alex was surprised to see that the pews weren't empty.

His eyes widened. Make that more than surprised, make that astonished. Sitting in the very front row, his entire Chemistry class was bound, gagged and unconscious, heads lolling to the sides. Not one of them was moving.

Alex was pushed toward the front of the church, the altar. Looking up, he got his second surprise of the night. Right there, calmly in-between Father M and Mitsoku Takami stood Sophia Lewis, Blunt's eventual replacement.

He overcame his surprise quickly, realizing how many things this explained. If she had been feeding all of the highly sensitive and classified information she knew to the Horsemen, no _wonder _they seemed to be constantly one step ahead. If Alex could've spit, he would have. As it was, he settled for a heavy, disbelieving glare. Lewis did nothing but gaze serenely back.

"Good morning, Alex," she said, and Alex didn't think it was possible to disagree more. "Surprised?"

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(1) Thanks to Alatriel Evanstar for that line. So... how d'you like dem apples? Review, please?


	12. Chapter 12

I'm sorry this chapter took so long – I wrote a lot of it while I was home sick and then looked at it once I was nice and healthy, and what do you know, it was crap. So I edited it, which took a bit longer than expected with all of my school stuff to deal with. But I tried to make this extra long to make up for it!

In case anyone is interested, the song for this chapter is "Take a Bow", by Muse. It's a sick song, and it fits really well.

Just one more thing - thank you for the suggestions, AbstractDarkness. I actually am Catholic myself, so I'm surprised that those didn't occur to me. (If I ever rewrite the story, I'll be sure to use your confession idea, I loved that!)

**Disclaimer: I don't own Alex Rider.**

-:-**  
**

_Alex was pushed toward the front of the church, the altar. Looking up, he got his second surprise of the night. Right there, calmly in-between Father M and Mitsoku Takami stood Sophia Lewis, Blunt's eventual replacement._

_He overcame his surprise quickly, realizing how many things this explained. If she had been feeding all of the highly sensitive and classified information she knew to the Horsemen, no wonder they seemed to be constantly one step ahead. If Alex could've spit, he would have. As it was, he settled for a heavy, disbelieving glare. Lewis did nothing but gaze serenely back._

"_Good morning, Alex," she said, and Alex didn't think it was possible to disagree more. "Surprised?"_

-:-_  
_

A sarcastic remark was in order, but he couldn't, unfortunately enough, say anything around the gag. He settle for struggling, elbowing whoever was holding his right arm in the stomach and managing to kick the person on his left in the calf before someone grabbed his elbows and forced them together to the point where he felt his shoulders might actually dislocate.

Slowly he stopped moving, burning to think that this might satisfy them.

"Very good, Alex," Takami said, as if talking to a small child. "You just stay still and none of your friends," she gestured to the pews, gun in hand, "will have to get hurt."

Alex moved suddenly, apparently catching his captors by surprise, because he managed to escape their grip. He shot forward, his arms tied awkwardly behind his back, and ran toward Takami. He had only made it four or five steps before she had her gun out and pointed - not at him, but at Regina Marbury, who was slowly beginning to regain consciousness in the front row. Alex's mind flashed quickly back to a joking conversation with Tom, where he had teased him about a crush he had on Regina. That had been before this whole mess had started, centuries ago.

He paused. Takami laughed loudly and moved her gun down the line - onto David Hotchkiss and Janice Murray and Nadeem Agashe - before speaking again. "I know more about you than any of these children," she spat, "and yet you still insist on protecting them."

Alex still didn't move, though his elbows had been grabbed once more in another effort to subdue him.

"Tell me why, Alex. Tell me why you feel obligated to protect them when all they do for you is spread rumours and lies?" She gestured, and someone took it to mean that his gag should be removed.

He took a deep breath, as if preparing for a lengthy speech, before he said, "Fall in a hole and die, Takami."

Whoever was standing behind him tightened their grip on his arms, and he tried not to wince.

Takami's eyes narrowed. "Every comment you make like that will cost you, Rider."

"Good thing I'm just loaded with cash, then, isn't it?" he asked, clenching his teeth when the grip around his forearms tightened even more, so tight he could feel the blood trying to force its way through his veins.

She ignored that comment and instead looked back toward the pews, where his classmates were awakening. Alex could see them all stirring, and it looked like a few people had opened their eyes and were blinking wearily. Alex wondered what they'd been drugged with – whatever it was had to have been potent, to keep them unconscious long enough to transport them here.

"Good morning, children!" Takami announced, suddenly. "Do you remember me?"

It captured the attention of everyone in the room, and Alex heard at least one girl scream amid the gasps. Takami bore her teeth in what he thought may have been an attempt at a smile, though it looked more like a shark ready to tear into a helpless baby seal or dolphin.

"I'll take that as a yes, children," she said, her maniacal smile widening. She stepped down from the altar and made her way leisurely toward the pews, looking more pleased than anyone had right to in this situation.

As she made her way past the first row, there was a sudden struggle in a pew to his left. He jerked suddenly, hoping to take advantage of the distraction, but whoever was gripping his arms wasn't taking any more chances - all he managed to do was bruise his shoulder. Sagging, he glanced to his left, where he was surprised to see Ryan Kent trying to free himself from his bonds, twisting and turning, slipping between the fingers of the parishioners that had rushed over to subdue him.

The sea of people surrounding him was yelling confusedly, and Alex watched as he elbowed a man in the nose and made it spurt blood. Though that man went down, Kent suffered from the same problem Alex had - the sheer numbers of Father M's supporters made it impossible to escape. Kent went down, grunting and still struggling. Once his arms were back behind his back, Takami stalked over to him.

"I don't remember you," she said, "and I wonder why? Why are you resisting now, when before you were content to let Mr. Rider solve your problems for you?"

Kent glared at her, but Takami just looked amused.

"Leave them alone, Takami," Alex said, his voice steady despite the fact that he would have liked to do nothing more than curse at her. "They've done nothing wrong. It's me you want, remember? I have to be _punished_."

She looked at Ryan a moment more before she turned to Alex, her face curious. "I can't quite figure you out, Rider, and I thought I had you pinned. But it doesn't matter. You're right - it's time for your punishment." Her face twisted into something grotesque, as if she was looking forward to whatever hell she had planned.

Somehow, Alex didn't feel like that boded well for him.

Lewis, who had up until this point remained mostly quiet, looked at Alex. "The first portion of your path to salvation is repentance, Alex. Repent, and you can still save your soul from eternal damnation."

With this, Alex grew angry. It was the same thing Father M had tried to communicate the day before, and it seemed just as stupid now as it had then. "Repent?" he asked, "For _what_? For trying to stop a bunch of murderers? You're all lunatics!"

Lewis shook her head, watching Takami prowl up and down the pews. "For lying, Alex," she said softly. "You are living a lie."

A sliver of ice had found its way to his heart, and as she started to continue speaking, it grew and spread, until the blood had drained from his face and he felt rather numb.

Lewis turned to his classmates. She had a powerful presence, though different from Takami. Whereas the smaller woman was downright menacing, Lewis was calm and sorted, and even the more frightening because of it.

"Alex Rider has been lying to all of you for nearly a year now," she began, calmly. "His uncle didn't die in a car crash, and Alex Rider does not get sick."

He certainly felt it now. He couldn't look at anyone, much less people like Gemma or Ryan or Calvin or Regina, though he could tell that their eyes were on him.

"Rather," she continued, "Alex Rider's uncle was eliminated by an assassin hired by an international criminal organization, because Alex Rider's uncle was a spy for British Intelligence."

He could hear the gasps even muffled as they were by the cloth gags. If he had felt eyes on him before, it was nothing compared to now. He knew where this was going. He slowly raised his head and looked Lewis in the eye.

He only said one word, and he said it so softly that the desert winds almost drowned it out.

"Traitor."

She gave a small nod, unaffected by his scathing tone. After a brief pause to let that earth-shaking information sink in, she took another breath. "And Alex Rider found this out shortly after his fourteenth birthday, less than a week after his uncle died. You may ask," she said, suddenly louder, "why I am telling you this. I am telling you this because you deserve to know the truth before you die, the reason you are dying today."

This time he heard muffled sobs along with the obligatory gasps.

"The truth," she said dramatically, "the truth that will lead Alex to his death and all of you behind him, is that Alex Rider is a spy for MI6, and he led us to our ruin!"

Several girls screamed, and Alex felt his world implode.

He pushed the horrifying fact that his life would never be the same out of his mind and began to protest.

"That's complete bull!" he shouted, again trying to free himself from the grip that had his elbows locked. Maybe there was still a small chance in hell that his classmates wouldn't believe her. "I get sick a lot!"

Lewis smiled sickeningly at him. "No one gets sick that much, Alex Rider, and sickness does not explain why you come back to school littered in bruises."

"I'm clumsy, alright?" he shouted, desperately. To his horror, his eyes were burning. Though he knew he would _never_ give Takami or Lewis the satisfaction of breaking down, the fact that he was this close said something about his current level of despair.

Lewis snorted. "Clumsy? That is perhaps one of the last adjectives anyone would ever use to describe you. You were on the football team, you snowboarded, you swam, and you did it all gracefully, Alex." She turned to the class and asked, "Did he not? Have you never had your suspicions about young Mr. Rider?"

There was very little movement, but Alex could feel the tension in the room increase.

"You've never wondered where he goes or why he's gone so long - never missed a day of school, and all of the sudden his immune system can't handle the flu? Why he comes back from his sick weeks, supposedly recovered but still looking ill?"

"Shut up!" someone shouted suddenly, and Alex's heart sank as he recognized Tom's voice.

"And who's this?" Takami asked, delighted, "Another one of you!" She turned to Alex and said, "I didn't know you had this many friends, Rider."

She suddenly pointed her gun carelessly at Tom and continued, "Go on. Why should we stop? We come bearing the truth, and the Word of the Lord."

"The _truth_," Tom snorted. "You're talking out of your arse, crazy lady, trying to turn us against one another before you go all psycho and kill us."

"And if I was?" Takami asked, beginning to circle around Tom, who squirmed under her scrutinizing gaze. "What does it matter to you?"

"Alex is my friend!" Tom shouted, and despite the situation, despite the helplessness and sense of desperation he felt, Alex felt his heart swell in his chest. Tom was risking his life to help him – not because he felt any obligation to, but because he was his friend. "And I won't let you lie about him just to satisfy some morbid need of yours!"

Takami was silent, her face calculating. Alex looked up to Lewis, who had remained on the altar during this whole mess. Her eyes were wide and focused on some point at the back of the church, which Alex couldn't see. Her mouth was slightly open, and he got the dreadful sense in his stomach that meant something bad was probably about to happen.

Sure enough, after another moment, she looked back to Alex. "He _knows_," she said softly, her voice more than a little incredulous. "You told him what you do, didn't you?"

"I didn't tell him anything," Alex said calmly, his voice completely steady, "because there was nothing for me to tell him."

Lewis shook her head. "When did the pressure grow to be too much, Alex? Was it after Point Blanc, where you were nearly dissected alive? After Sarov shot himself in front of you, because you reminded him of his son? Was it after Malagosto, or after you got shot?"

"I didn't tell him _anything_," Alex said again, struggling fruitlessly. "Leave him out of this!"

"Or was it more recent?" Lewis continued relentlessly, "After you found out that your parents died in no accident, but were murdered by your father's best friend?"

Alex paid no heed to the noises his classmates were making now – it was just Lewis, Tom, Takami and him. "I told you!" Alex shouted, "He doesn't know _anything_! He's just my friend, and he stood up for me because that's what friends do! But you wouldn't know that, Lewis," he said, venomously, "because you can't have friends, you bloody great _traitor_!"

Again, Lewis remained quiet. Maybe it was just the light, or the angle, but the look in her eyes was almost... regretful.

"I think that is confession enough, Mitsuko," Lewis said, again quiet. She stepped back, her face closed again, any emotion that may have been there before long gone. "He is yours for the taking."

Alex, breathing hard and already regretting his outburst, got the sinking sensation that the world was about to go to shit.


	13. Chapter 13

This chapter took me forever, as you can tell. I had a harder time getting back into than I thought I would. Anyway, this is one of my favorites, I hope you like it!

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider.**

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_Sure enough, after another moment, she looked back to Alex. "He knows," she said softly, her voice more than a little incredulous. "You told him what you do, didn't you?"_

"_I didn't tell him anything," Alex said calmly, his voice completely steady, "because there was nothing for me to tell him."_

_Lewis shook her head. "When did the pressure grow to be too much, Alex? Was it after Point Blanc, where you were nearly dissected alive? After Sarov shot himself in front of you, because you reminded him of his son? Was it after Malagosto, or after you got shot?"_

"_I didn't tell him anything," Alex said again, struggling fruitlessly. "Leave him out of this!"_

"_Or was it more recent?" Lewis continued relentlessly, "After you found out that your parents died in no accident, but were murdered by your father's best friend?"_

_Alex paid no heed to the noises his classmates were making now – it was just Lewis, Tom, Takami and him. "I told you!" Alex shouted, "He doesn't know anything! He's just my friend, and he stood up for me because that's what friends do! But you wouldn't know that, Lewis," he said, venomously, "because you can't have friends, you bloody great traitor!"_

_Again, Lewis remained quiet. Maybe it was just the light, or the angle, but the look in her eyes was almost... regretful._

"_I think that is confession enough, Mitsuko," Lewis said, again quiet. She stepped back, her face closed again, any emotion that may have been there before long gone. "He is yours for the taking."_

_Alex, breathing hard and already regretting his outburst, got the sinking sensation that the world was about to go to shit._

* * *

Takami's smile spread slowly across her face - she truly looked deranged, now. She motioned to a member of the congregation, and Alex felt rather than saw the crowd behind him part.

Takami motioned to someone standing behind him, and Alex saw the shadow on the ground before they reached him. It was Nevaeh, carrying an enormous cross, taller than he was. It looked to be made of wood, pieces so thick he doubted he would be able to wrap his hands around them. Nevaeh stopped in front of Alex and grinned maliciously.

Alex may not have been an expert on religion, but he knew what crosses meant. He especially knew what crosses meant because he had been living at this bloody camp of _freaks_ and listening to a madman preach about redemption, and how Jesus had died on the cross to absolve their sins, and how did they repay him? Humankind descended into immorality and greediness, thrusting aside their religion when it grew inconvenient. Oh, Alex knew all about crosses.

With a growing sense of dread, Alex watched as Nevaeh passed the cross to Takami, whose eyes were glowing with madness. Lewis stood behind her, her face impassive and her arms crossed over her chest. Alex glowered at the two of them, determined not to show his fear at what he thought might be coming. He would show no signs of weakness.

"I'm sure you're wondering, Alex, what this is," Takami said, handing the cross to Lewis and stalking over to where he was still being held. She looked like a lion about to attack, grinning gleefully and circling him.

"It's a cross," he said dryly. "Not much to wonder about, is there?"

She stopped abruptly in her circle in front of him, looking predatory. She actually looked like she wanted to slap him, he noticed slightly incredulously.

"I will not hear you being so disrespectful to the cross, Alex," Takami hissed lowly. "You have just earned yourself a harsher punishment."

Alex said nothing. Takami's eyes burned on his face, nobody daring to move. Alex thought he could hear someone crying.

"I will make you suffer," Takami said after a moment, "as our Lord suffered." She turned wildly, and pointed suddenly at Lewis, who still held the cross. "You!" she shouted. "Give it to him!" A shadow passed over Lewis' face, but it was gone before Alex had time to do more than register it.

Lewis solemnly brought the cross over to him, taking steady, measured steps. She handed it to Alex – or rather, to Alex's guards – and then retreated back to her original place. Takami looked at him from her position on the altar. She no longer looked mad – no, now she looked calm. But Alex felt no relief. He got the unfortunate feeling that it was the calm before the storm, the stillest moment before the hurricane began in full force.

She stalked over to him, her lips rising in what some might call a smile. She nodded to a guard behind him, and he was surprised to feel the fabric on his shirt rising.

"What the hell?!" he exclaimed, tightening his arms to his sides. What were they doing taking off his shirt?

"Do not make this more difficult than it ought to be, Alex," Takami purred, her face startling close to his own. "We will cut it off you if we must."

"I would say you must!" Alex exclaimed. They already had his pride. He wouldn't let them take his dignity too.

Takami shrugged. "Very well then. Cut it off."

Alex didn't remove his eyes from hers as they ripped his shirt off. He heard several of his classmates gasp, and he thought darkly that he was right sick of that by now. Couldn't they make themselves useful – even an _attempt_ to escape would be nice – instead of gawping at him? Yes, he had bruises, and scars, but still! The situation was a little too precarious to be caring about that sort of thing!

Takami gestured to another guard, and someone brought his hands in front of him for Takami to tie together – tightly. Then she foisted the cross roughly onto him, and he stumbled trying to support its weight. The thing was heavy, and he almost fell to his knees. He winced as the corner of it cut into his chest, leaving splinters behind.

"Do you know the story of the crucifixion, Alex?" Takami asked in little more than a whisper. It carried through the church nonetheless. She didn't wait for his answer before she continued: "I'm sure you do. I'm sure you studied it in great detail before you arrived here, hoping to fool us. But what I'm _not_ sure that you know," she continued, her eyes glowing, "is _why_ people are crucified. Do you?"

Alex didn't. Well, he had several ideas, but all of them were too painful to think about. He didn't want to give her any ideas. He remained silent, knowing she would answer herself anyway.

She stalked around him one more time, running her fingers along the edges of the cross as she walked by it. "I'll take that as a no. I'll let you in on a little secret, Alex. People die by crucifixion when they have done something horrible. When they deserve a painful, gruesome, but most of all _public_ death. Only those who commit the worst of crimes warrant the same painful death that Christ our Lord suffered."

There was a beat of silence. "What horrible things has Alex done, you lunatic? _You're_ the one who has condemned him; _you're _the ones who deserve death!"

Tom had yelled again. Alex had passed feeling grateful to his friend. Now he just needed him to stop talking – many more outbursts like this and he knew Lewis or Takami wouldn't hesitate in killing him. Alex crossed his fingers for his friend's safety.

Thankfully, Takami didn't even spare him a glance. "Do you know the best way to make something public, Alex?"

He didn't answer.

She smiled slowly. Alex felt goose pimples rise on his arms but showed no outward sign of his revulsion. Finally, she spoke up. "The best way to make something public, Alex, the _very best way_, is to put it on television." She paused, and Alex could tell she was building up dramatic emphasis. All psychopaths were the same, in the end. "Are you ready for your close-up Mr. Rider?"

* * *

The sun was hot and painful on his back. A thought flitted through his consciousness briefly that he would probably get sunburn, but he ignored it as inconsequential. The ways things were going, sunburn was the least of his worries.

He wondered where on earth his backup was. Blunt and Jones had promised this to be another 'surveillance mission'. He snorted bitterly. They were never just surveillance missions.

Alex readjusted the cross onto his other shoulder, his bare feet burning in the desert sand. He risked a glance behind him, where he could see the parishioners – some of them his former friends – herding his classmates, jeering at them when they stumbled. He couldn't see Tom, or Kent. They were far enough away to be little more than a hazy blur.

Just then, a crack sounded through the air. Alex flinched in anticipation. Whenever he stopped – this was only the second time – Takami had taken it upon herself to whip his bare back. For a second he blacked out, the pain consuming him and making him dizzy. But then he stood again, biting the inside of his cheek. With a superhuman effort, he lifted the cross again, ignoring how his arms shook and his back burned.

Lewis walked on one side of him, and taking a quick glance at her Alex was surprised to see the harsh downturn of her lips. She didn't look pleased – far from it, in fact. She was glaring at the horizon, the heat giving in an indistinct, hazy look. Alex followed her gaze and was surprised to see an oil rig – he remembered seeing it on his first day there – suddenly looming in front of them. He blinked. Where had that come from?

He blinked again and they were right next to it. Alex barely remembered walking the distance between. He thought vaguely that that was probably a bad thing. He felt lightheaded – like he was losing a lot of blood. Which was a very bad thing, he realized.

Takami shoved him from behind, igniting a flare of pain in his back. She was pushing him toward a set of stairs that he hadn't noticed before, hidden as they were by the complicated machinery. He made his way toward them, trying to ignore the stinging in his shoulders and back. He felt as if he could barely move his arms, as if he were condemned to keep walking this path forever, with no hope of escape.

Each step felt like it took an hour, but he was at the top before he realized it. A small part of his brain recognized that he was entering dangerous areas of blood loss, but he couldn't stay focused on the idea. He was concentrating too hard on what Takami was saying.

She was standing at the edge of one of the ledges normally used for maintenance work, her toes curled over the edge as though she held no fear of falling. There was no railing, though they were at least two stories up. Her hands were raised over her head and were dripping with Alex's blood. She looked manic. "Enough of this society where the Lord, our God, is disdained! Enough of life where humans live loose lives filled with sin! Enough is _enough_!"

The congregation below her cheered, pushing and shoving Alex's classmates as they did, some of whom were crying. "Today we shall show the world exactly _why_ they should fear God's wrath!"

She continued on, but Alex had had enough. He turned his attention to the bonds attaching his hands, in the hopes that he could untie them. They seemed looser, and he had plenty of experience escaping captivity.

He had been at it for just a moment when he heard another voice. Lewis was standing next to him, starting to whisper. "Alex," she began, her voice thick with urgency, "I'm not a traitor. I'm in deep cover – like your dad was. I've waited as long as I can for back up – I was stalling for time when I told them your story. But we can't wait any longer. It's time to take things into our own hands."

Alex glanced at her warily. His world was still spinning. "How can I believe you?" he asked, still working on the knots that had his wrists bound.

"You can't," she said, glancing back at Takami, who was still deep into her preaching, "but you'll have to. Listen, Alex," she said urgently, "I can explain this all later. Right now our priorities are freeing you and your classmates. Things have gotten too out of control."

After another second of wriggling, Alex's bonds broke. He kept the rope around his wrists, though, raw and aching as they were. He had to wait for the opportune moment.

"I'll go for Takami," he said out of the corner of his mouth. "You get down there to help my class."

She nodded once and Alex felt his adrenaline clear his head. He felt no more pain, just a clear sense of purpose and a singular goal: he had to kill Takami. The woman was deranged, and would stop at nothing to accomplish her ultimate goal. He had to kill her before she killed anyone else. He wouldn't allow another Mr. Wells, or Chloe, or another Kwan. Enough was enough.

"...an _example_ of young Mr. Rider here, with all of you cursed teenagers to follow. I wonder how the British government will react to a massacre by a group they've never even heard of?"

She turned back to Alex, madness glittering in her eyes. Alex took a deep breath, and the events that followed seemed to happen in slow motion. She opened her mouth to bark out an order. Alex let the ropes drop. Her eyes widened and she looked down at the ropes before looking him in the eye again. Distantly, he could hear Lewis clambering down the stairs that had led them up to their current stage. She opened her mouth again, but no sound came out. Alex was already moving.

He ran across the platform to Takami. Her eyes widened again but she had no time to do anything other than scream as his arms caught round her waist.

And then they were both falling off the edge.


	14. Chapter 14

Just to let everyone know: the first three chapters of my first (real) work of original fiction are up on Fictionpress. There's a link on my profile (toward the bottom) if you're interested.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider.**

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It seemed to take forever—but at the same time no time at all—for them to hit the ground. Alex had done his best to adjust as they fell so that Takami was completely underneath him. Her eyes wide open—giving her the look of a small child—and her mouth forming a perfect 'O', she had been too stunned to struggle.

But even with her body cushioning his, the impact was devastating.

The cracking he heard told him more surely than anything he could have seen that Takami was dead. It sounded louder than a gunshot, overwhelming the smaller cracks Alex knew were gripping his body. They were plenty painful, even if he couldn't hear them. He rolled off of her, ignoring how it made his back sting and struggling to find room in his lungs to breathe. Looking over at her, bile rose in his throat as he saw clearly her body contorted in a position beyond what any human could accomplish naturally. Her spine was undoubtedly broken.

He forced himself to look away and try to regain his breathing. Good riddance—the sooner the world was rid of people like her the better. But it was harder than it should have been to breathe; it seemed he had cracked a rib or two, for his chest refused to rise. It didn't help that there was sand digging into the fresh wounds on his back, making it sting and throb. He struggled to gain composure—he had to help his classmates! He couldn't just bloody _lie_ here!

Pushing himself up, he grimaced as his left hand gave out beneath him. He'd apparently sprained his wrist as well, though he couldn't quite feel the pain yet. The rush of adrenaline was too strong.

He stood just in time to see a member of the congregation—Alex recognized him as Yayah, the boy who had shared a tent with Nevaeh and himself—rushing toward him, his eyes murderous. Alex tensed and widened his stance, hands raised. But before Yayah had the chance to do anything but run at him, he was on the ground. Alex looked around wildly, but no one had attacked Yayah: there was a bullet lodged in his chest, bleeding freely.

Alex turned and he saw Lewis standing behind him, holding a gun. She lowered it and made her way to Alex, her expression worried. Alex was suddenly flooded with gratitude. If there was anything else that could have convinced him of her allegiances so quickly, he couldn't think of it. But he would still be careful of her—he could never be entirely sure. If she was in deep cover, why hadn't Blunt and Jones told him that? Things still didn't quite add up where Lewis was concerned. He got the feeling that there was some variable he just wasn't seeing.

"What timing you have, Alex," she muttered, looking over the horizon. "It looks as if your backup has finally arrived."

Alex looked over in their direction only quickly enough to register that they were there. He had more pressing concerns; namely, that of finding some way to keep his class safe. If Yayah attacked, it was only a matter of time before the rest of the parishioners followed his example.

"Great," he muttered. "Do you happen to have a gun I could borrow?"

Lewis shook her head. "Just this one. But check Takami. She should have one on her somewhere. She wasn't the type to go around unprotected."

Alex pushed his mind away from the gruesome fact that he would have to search Takami when her spine was all but sticking out of her back and made his way over to her corpse, thinking of where she might hide a gun. Trying to avoid touching her as much as she could—her skin was already getting clammy—he searched her urgently. Pulling out the gun that was buried underneath her, he spun to face the congregation, gun wielded.

They had started to get organized. Alex's classmates, still tied up, could do little but cry out as the parishioners made to kick and punch them. Alex felt the familiar focusing of his vision, the familiar flood of adrenaline, and suddenly he was invincible. Injuries or not, Alex wasn't about to stand back and watch people he knew die.

Without a sound he ran toward his nearest classmate. "Run," he told her as he struggled to untie her bonds. "Go and hide in the church!"

She followed his orders without hesitation, weaving in between the crowd. Alex didn't watch her go—he was already onto his next classmate. This one he recognized, he realized. Ryan Kent's ropes were nearly undone already, and a quick tug in the right direction from Alex had them falling to the ground.

"Run and hide," Alex told him, already starting to move. He had been lucky so far. But he had the feeling his luck wouldn't last much longer.

"Like hell I will!" Kent yelled. Alex didn't have the time to observe his face; too busy on Regina's wrists; but he sounded angry. Alex couldn't bring himself to care. There were bigger things to worry about. If Kent got himself killed, though...

Regina stumbled to her feet just before a shot rang out. Alex froze for a millisecond—_what side?_, he wondered wildly—before Regina fell, a scream dying on her lips.

Shit. Someone had gotten to a gun, and now Regina Marbury had a bullet lodged in her thigh. Alex could only thank God that it hadn't hit any higher.

"Kent!" he yelled, grabbing onto the back of his shirt, "get her inside and try to stop the bleeding—but be careful! I don't know who's got the guns here."

Thankfully this was enough of a hero role to satisfy Kent. The bastard needed to learn how to sort out his priorities. He lifted Regina up into his arms—Alex winced, he wasn't exactly being gentle—and ran as quickly as he could back to the nearest tents and buildings. It was a weird picture. But then everything about this situation was just so surreal.

Alex found his next classmate on the ground at the exact same moment the SAS showed up in full force. Unlike Alex, they had no hesitation firing their weapons, though their shots weren't generally lethal. He saw at least four parishioners go down in the first wave, and more followed, clutching wounds on their legs and shoulders. He had just finished untying Gemma and shooed her off when the first SAS soldier approached him.

"How's it going Cub?" a familiar voice asked.

Alex's jaw clenched. He didn't answer the question directly, but instead said, "Why am I not surprised?"

The figure Alex now knew was Wolf shrugged. "We seem to get dragged to the same places pretty often, don't we?"

Alex didn't respond, but instead focused on the knot in front of him. It took him a moment to realize that he was working on untying Tom, and that Tom was yelling at him.

"Down!" he yelled, before throwing himself to the ground. Alex, his fingers entangled in the ropes binding Tom, quickly followed with a yelp.

He felt the shot go over his head, taking a few strands of his hair with it. Damn. He hadn't even seen the gun. That had been too close for comfort. Hopefully with the SAS _finally_ there they would be able to disarm them quickly.

He got back to his knees just in time to see Wolf aim and shoot at their attacker. He didn't miss—the bullet hit the parishioner in her upper thigh, and she went down screaming.

Alex grimaced. He could hear similar screams coming from around him—making his way over to the last classmate he saw tied up, he hoped that none of his friends were dead.

Though his back stung, his chest ached and his left wrist twinged from the effort, Janice Murray was freed after only a few moments. Alex looked around, but all he saw were SAS and parishioners. He felt a surge of relief. Some of his classmates must have been helping their friends to escape. Hopefully now they were all far away, somewhere safe.

He turned to see Wolf's brow crumpled, looking confused. "What the hell happened to you?" he asked, relaxing his grip on his gun now that the sounds of fighting were fading. "And how are you still moving?"

It took Alex a minute to get where Wolf was going with the questions. "A whip," he said, without elaboration. "And a high tolerance for pain."

Wolf rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Let's finish this off, shall we?"

"Gladly," Alex said, following his lead and heading back to where the fighting was still taking place. It appeared that the SAS had taken out most of the congregation, who were scattered on the desert sand, most of them clutching wounds. Only a few of the stronger men were left.

It was then that Alex remembered Father M. He hadn't seen the man once that day, and he cursed himself for not noticing it sooner. But then again, he _had_ been a bit preoccupied. Had he taken off in the middle of the night? Or had he received word that the SAS were on their way, and cut and run? Neither option made much sense to Alex, so he pushed the thought away. He had other things to deal with at the moment.

"Got 'em all, Fox?" he heard Wolf call out. Alex took a deep breath. The pain of his multiple injuries was coming back in full force. But he bit the inside of his cheek. He would be fine.

"Yeah, I think so," the younger man replied. He kicked at one parishioner still moving by his feet, and the man fell still. "Yup, I think that's the last of them."

Alex registered a presence behind him the moment before he heard the _click_ of a gun. "Not quite," a familiar voice answered quietly. Lewis. The SAS immediately tensed and went for their weapons, but they froze when she pushed the barrel of the gun onto the back of his head.

Alex turned around slowly, so slowly, trying to take deep breaths, though his chest barely—painfully—filled with air. He turned until the barrel was pointed smack dab in the middle of his forehead. Sure enough, there she stood. The woman she had been just moments ago—calm, helpful, _trustworthy_—was gone. In her place stood a woman with crazy, twitching eyes and a gun pointed evenly at his skull.

"Lewis," he said evenly, trying not to startle her into accidentally shooting. "What does this make you now? A quadruple agent? Or just a maniac?"

The woman laughed, pushing the barrel further into his face, and she didn't sound quite sane. "I no longer know _what_ I am," she said, the hand not holding the gun clenching and unclenching oddly. "I thought joining the Horsemen would help that... but no. I'm worse off then when I started!"

"So," Alex said, as if speaking to a spooked animal, "You weren't a member when you joined MI6?"

She laughed again, and Alex wished he could find some way for her to turn the other way, so that her back was facing the SAS men, but she wasn't stupid. She kept her feet planted firmly where they were and kept Alex between them. "Of course not, you stupid boy!" she answered in reply. Alex didn't like the way her finger on the trigger was twitching. "Do you think I would have been accepted—trained as Blunt's replacement, even—if they had known I was a member of a dangerous organization like this one? Never! Do you think they would have sent you, if they had known a more senior member was already there?"

"And MI6 didn't put you here in deep cover?" Alex asked, his adrenaline begging him to do something. Fight... or flight?

Her eyes grew wider and her hands started shaking even more. "No," she said, "that was a lie."

Alex shook his head the tiniest bit. "Then why did you help me?" he asked, trying to make sense of it. Her actions were completely baffling.

"Isn't it obvious?" she asked, laughing again. "Takami was insane! I couldn't let her kill more innocent people—that would have bought me a ticket straight to hell. So I did the first thing I could think of. I pretended I was on your side so Takami would lose."

"But... you shot Yayah. Isn't _murder_ a ticket straight to hell?"

She stayed silent this time, but a sickly grin spread across her face. "'One in the stead of many,'" she said, as if she were quoting someone. "That's something the Father told me. He told me, 'Sophie, Christ died for our sins so that we would be able to go to Heaven. If you have to do bad things, at least do them well, in such a way that Christ would be proud of.'"

Alex crinkled his brow, ignoring the way it made his head ache. That just didn't make sense. But she wasn't done.

"'Hatred stirs up strife, but love covers all offenses,'" she continued, not even looking at him anymore. "Proverbs 10:12. Don't you see, Alex?" she asked, wrenching her eyes from the horizon. "I hate with a passion, and look where it got me…but it is my love for the Lord that shall get me into the Eternal Paradise!"

"Lewis... Sophie... you're not making any sense. Can't you see that what you're doing is wrong? If you kill me, it will be in cold blood. That's _murder_. And, if I'm not wrong, that's breaking one of the Ten Commandments."

No hesitation crossed her brow. "'One in the stead of many,'" she repeated, as if reassuring herself. Alex's heartbeat kicked up again. She didn't sound convinced. Shit. She sounded like she was actually going to _kill_ him!

Fight? Or flight? His adrenaline was telling him to make that choice, and _now_. So, without warning, he kicked her feet out from under her at the same time he knocked the gun out of Lewis' hand. It was easy, really. She didn't even let off a shot. She just lay on the ground, laughing and wringing her hands together. Alex shook his head. She had seemed just fine only a few hours—no, minutes—ago. What the hell had happened to have her descend into such madness so quickly?

It was only when a few SAS men started carting her away that he really started to feel his injuries. Now that the threat was gone, the adrenaline had faded, leaving nothing to block the stunning pain.

Suddenly, his legs were shaking and he had to sit. He blinked and saw Snake in front of him, looking concerned. Somewhere in the back of his head he remembered that Snake was the unit's medic. Concern was probably _not_ a good thing for him.

"What's up, Cub?" the man asked, though to Alex's ears it sounded a bit muddled.

"Fractured ribs, if not one broken one," Alex began to list. "Sprained wrist. My back was whipped."

Snake pursed his lips. "How the hell are you still conscious?" he asked, unknowingly repeating Wolf's earlier question.

Alex coughed, and was surprised to find blood on his arm when he removed it. "I have..." he said, but the words were growing harder to say, his mouth unwilling to move. "A very high... pain tolerance." His words came out slowly, and he could barely hear them.

When he blinked again, Snake had gone. He only had the time to gape in confusion before a wave of pain so severe he nearly blacked out hit him. He doubled over, clutching his chest. Shit, shit, shit, _shit_! What the hell was going on?!

He barely registered when he fell to his side on the sand, ignoring the pain in his back and curling up into fetal position. He didn't notice when Snake shook him, nor could he hear anything the man said.

He got one last glimpse of the man barking out orders before the darkness overcame him and he slipped into unconsciousness.


	15. Chapter 15

Check out my newest story, This Is the Altar. It's about John and Helen, Ian, Ash, and most likely Yassen in the pre-Alex years.

Also, this chapter is a _lot_ of dialogue. I'm trying something new with one of the scenes, where it's _only_ dialogue (let me tell you, it was weird to write), so some feedback on that would be appreciated. But don't worry; you'll get more action in the sequel!

Whoops, did I let that slip? Yup, I'm doing a sequel. It's going to have a strong focus on Alex and his interactions with his classmates, but there will be a nice plot going on, if I do say so myself. Look for it pretty soon!

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider.**

* * *

Voices faded in and out of his consciousness, snippets of conversations reaching his weary brain. None of it sounded very encouraging, he half-realized.

"Stabilise him—no, be _careful_ you idiot! Look at his back!"

"Well I can't exactly put him on his stomach—did you see the bruising? I would bet money he's got internal damage."

He only vaguely noticed when he started moving. This sort of half-consciousness was really odd, he decided. Sort of like falling asleep but not really being asleep. It happened to him on airplanes sometimes—he would take hour long naps, which wasn't long enough to dream; but at the same time he remembered dreaming.

There was probably some medical term for it, he decided. But then thinking became too difficult, and it was easier just to drift off to sleep...

"Shit, he's stopped breathing! Get the bag!"

* * *

"Kid's okay, right?"

"It was touch and go for a while, but he should make a full recovery."

"Good. Umm, what actually happened to him?"

"From what I've gathered, he fell from a pretty tall height. Did you see that?"

"From far away. But what was wrong with him?"

"A sprained wrist, which looks minor compared to his other injuries; lacerations from a whip on his back; and a condition called pneumothorax."

"I don't speak doctor."

"Well... basically when he fell, he cracked a few ribs. The activity afterward put too much stress on them, and one of them ended up breaking."

"Ouch."

"Yes, but that's not all of it. The broken rib punctured one of his lungs. For a while in the helicopter, he stopped breathing."

"Sounds bad."

"It was. They were doing rescue breathing for more time than I'm really comfortable with. But they got here, and we went right into surgery. He'll live."

"Well _that's_ always good. Long term effects?"

"Fortunately, he's still young. He should bounce back fairly well. Of course, it will take some time for his ribs to completely heal, and he shouldn't do anything too physical for a while, but he'll be okay."

"Good to know... Listen, I've gotta get out of here. Tell the kid we wish him luck will you? When he wakes up?"

"Of course. Who's 'we'?"

"Just tell him it's K Unit. He should get it."

* * *

Alex woke to the sound of a woman yelling. He swallowed experimentally before opening his eyes, and grimaced to feel the soreness. He had probably been unconscious for a while.

"This has gone too far, Alan. I'm simply not comfortable with the level of danger Alex was in. There has to be a limit."

A pause. "Yes, yes, of course I understand. I'm not a complete _idiot_, thank you." Her voice sounded bitter. "Don't 'now...' me, Alan. I know you too well. No more excuses."

Alex heard a tinny voice coming out of a phone but couldn't make out what it said. It intrigued him that Blunt was getting yelled at. Or at least he assumed Blunt was the one getting yelled at, with Mrs. Jones doing the yelling. He didn't know too many Alan's. He wished he could be a fly on the wall in _that_ office.

"I am perfectly aware of the statistics, Alan." Her voice was cold; as harsh as he had ever heard it. "Now if you would excuse me, I believe Alex has woken up."

She hung up the phone without saying goodbye.

Alex opened his eyes, blinking the sleep out of them. Mrs. Jones—severe haircut, peppermint and all—was standing near the foot of his bed, mobile in her hand. She made an effort to smile at him before she turned to grab the nearest chair. Alex thought it might have looked more sincere than usual.

"What was that about?" he asked, startled at how weak his voice was. How long, exactly, had he been unconscious?

"Oh, nothing..." she began, before she bit her tongue. "Actually, it was a lot of things. I won't lie to you, Alex. A lot of important things."

"Such as?" he asked, using his good arm to push himself into a sitting position.

She sighed and adjusted her skirt. "I don't know where to begin... I guess I'll start with what you heard."

"I haven't agreed with these missions in a long time, Alex. I don't approve of sending you out when you don't consent to it, and I do not think that these missions are in any way, shape or form acceptable for a boy your age. The thought of anyone subjecting my own children to this makes me shudder. If you _were_ to consent it would be a different story; I would agree to that, with its own limitations. There would be psychological debriefings, for instance, as well as regular appointments with a psychologist.

"The problem is, Alex, that you're simply too good at what you do for your own good. Alan cannot bear the thought of losing our most successful agent—"

Alex broke in, startled. "Your most successful agent? What does that mean?"

She pursed her lips. "You have the highest success rate, by far, out of any of our agents. This includes agents twice your age—and more. You have yet to fail a mission, Alex. I hope you realize how startling a statistic that is."

Alex gave it a thought. He rarely felt successful—oftentimes, he felt personally as if he had failed. But it seemed that his missions were considered a success if hundreds of thousands of people didn't die. The smaller casualties in there didn't seem to matter.

She continued, "Alan would never give you up voluntarily. I'm afraid he sees your involvement as permanent. If he were to have his way, your only escape would be death."

_That_ made Alex pause. "What about when I turn 18? Wouldn't I be an adult?"

"Technically, yes. Legally, yes. But think about it, Alex. Alan could no longer threaten you with an orphanage, but Miss Starbright has yet to renew her visa. But even if she moved away of her own accord and you walked away, he would leave you with no options. He could blacklist you—even fabricate an arrest so that no one would hire you. And how are you doing in school? How do you think you'll do on your GSCE's?"

Alex gaped. "Is that all I'm destined for, then? I have no option but to do this until I die?" It was a depressing thought. All the same, he could picture it... trying to walk away, but being forced back in by circumstances. (1)

She shook her head. "Not if I can help it. I'm done with standing on the sidelines—you have an ally in me, Alex. I can't sit back and watch him destroy your life any longer."

"And if he fires you? What then?" He couldn't let himself hope. It sounded too good to be true.

"I know too much for him to fire me—I could go to the news and completely discredit him. Even to the Prime Minister. He would despise a publicity scandal such as this. I get the feeling he would do almost anything to avoid one like it."

Alex stretched out, wincing at the pulling of the skin on his back. "So what happens now? How do you plan on saving me from a life of eternal misery?"

"I was going to get into that," she said, making a strange face at him. Alex got the feeling she wasn't too used to sarcastic humour.

"The first thing I need to mention is your class."

"Oh," Alex said weakly, pausing mid-stretch. "Them. I had forgotten."

She put a new peppermint into her mouth. "I had thought so. Unfortunately, the way Takami told your story, there was very little room for a cover. So, we told them the truth."

Alex could do very little but blink at her for a very long moment. "The... truth?" he asked, hoping his voice wasn't as weak as he felt it was. "As in, you told them what I do?"

"We _confirmed_ what you do," she corrected. "As they already knew, based upon what Takami told them. They have also all signed the Official Secrets Act. Their parents know that they were kidnapped, but we told them it was random; an unfortunate coincidence. Your classmates are the only ones that know everything."

"That should be great fun," he mumbled. He got the feeling that school was going to turn into hell. Not that it wasn't already pretty bad, but his two lives were supposed to be separate; contained into their individual spheres. Not mixed up like some crazy science experiment gone horribly, horrendously wrong.

Mrs. Jones frowned. "Hopefully they can provide a sort of support system for you," she said. "Miss Starbright mentioned that you've been having some problems in school with unfortunate rumours and uncouth classmates."

Alex desperately needed to change the subject. "Where _is_ Jack, anyway?" he asked. "I know she would want to be here..."

She looked at him like she knew what he was attempting, but answered his question anyway. "Passport problems. We're in Qatar, so she wouldn't have been able to re-enter the country if she had come to visit."

Alex looked at her sharply. "Would that be something you would fix?" he asked. "To help me out, so it can't be held above my head?"

"Yes," Mrs. Jones said, nodding. "We could even offer her dual citizenship, if she so wished."

Alex let out a loud breath. "And you would be expecting me to stay with MI6, correct?"

She nodded again. "Just because I am more... moral than Mr. Blunt does not mean that I do not take my job just as seriously. And, to be honest, I can't see you doing anything else with your life. What was it that you wanted to do, before your first mission? Be a football player?"

Alex let out a hollow laugh. "I can't really imagine it either. But...I just can't do this forever. It's already killing me."

"As a part of my discussion with Mr. Blunt, I brought up the benefits that most MI6 agents receive—he agreed that you should also receive those benefits. You would essentially be a fully-fledged agent as a fifteen year old."

Alex blinked a few times before he remembered. "Oh, yeah. My birthday must've gone by. What day is it, now?"

"February 18th. You've been fifteen for five days now."

"How exciting," he said dryly. "How long was I out for, anyway?"

"A little more than a week," she replied. "The doctor said that they had to keep you unconscious to speed the healing process. And there was the fact that you underwent a very serious surgery."

"How much longer do I have to be here?" he asked, already restless. And to think he had been awake for less than an hour.

Mrs. Jones stood up. "I'm not sure," she answered. "Would you like me to find you a doctor?"

Alex shrugged. He didn't particularly care about talking to a doctor, but anything that got rid of the awkward woman was fine with him. She was going for empathy, but it was obviously new to her. She didn't quite know how to handle herself.

As she walked out, her sensible shoes making the room echo behind her, Alex leaned back in his bed, his head spinning.

He was going to go back to school. His class was going to know what he did—who knew how they would treat him. Mrs. Jones was trying to make life easier for him. It felt like his life had somehow been inverted in the weeks he'd been away.

It was a hell of an adjustment to make.

* * *

(1) Check out amitai's story **Attempt**, if you haven't already. It's a great example of what I mentioned up there.

I'm not really happy with the ending, but be sure to leave your reviews! This is officially the last chapter of Repercussions; remember to look for the sequel soon!


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